#he was groomed by his mother he did nothing wrong ever

[yrsonpurpose]

"naïve romantic" oh it's so over for me when mary & george is released

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Seventeen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader - AO3 - 4K words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. PTSD, references and descriptions of domestic violence , grooming, manipulation, pregnancy. Simon's back story. Trauma. Bun opens up a bit more. Domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt. Simon is a nervous dad. Emotional confessions.

“It’s Beth.” Simon wipes the countertop, chasing little dirty fingerprints with a wet cloth, before fixing a hesitant set of eyes on yours.

“That’s pretty… I like it.” There’s something odd about his expression, something haunted almost, a deep, dark well filled to the brim with rancid, stagnant water. You sense it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

He motions to the chair and slides your mug into your waiting hands. “Sit.”

“Simon?”

“It was my sister in law’s name. My brother’s wife.” Was. Your throat goes dry, muscles tensing.

“Was?” He pulls your fingers into his, cradled in the palm of his hand, thumb rubbing circles into your skin, over and over on a loop. A mechanism of comfort, connection. A thread stitch into the fabric between your heart and his.

“They died, sweetheart. My family… I lost them.” Grief, a shared experience you know now, froths in the pit of your heart. You tremble, he holds you steady, though it should be the other way around.

“What… what happened?” He sighs, dragging your palm to his lips.

“Let’s sit down on the couch.”

He holds you as he talks, diaphragm rumbling against your ear. You’re laid on his chest, unable to see his face, watch his expressions, but for this, you don’t feel the urge to dissect each one.

You’re content against him. Listening. Mourning.

There’s a swath of silence afterwards, and then he clears his throat. “So, I was dead. Dead until I met Johnny, I think. And then everything changed.” Johnny’s words from weeks and weeks ago make more sense, Simon’s actions and reactions rapidly gaining clarity. “When we found you, I saw it, the look in your eyes. It was the same one that used to haunt my mother’s.”

“You saved her.” He burrows his face in your neck and shakes his head.

“I did what I could to piece them back together. Helped get Tommy clean and on his feet, got rid of the old man for good, but the damage… the way she suffered, it was irreversible. The best I could do was be there as much as often as possible.” You comb through his hair, short strands of silk like Penny’s, and hold him close. “I promised myself, when I met Johnny, when we fell in love, I’d do better by my own family. For him, and then by Penny. And now you. Promised I wouldn’t become him.” Your heart clenches, squeezing in on itself. “Violence may have been a part of my job, but it wasn’t a part of me.” His fingers dance along your spine until they reach your chin, tilting you back to meet his gaze. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You whisper, leaning into his touch. He doesn’t need to ask for your trust, he already has it.

“Johnny thinks I’ve got a bit of a savior complex now, but I want you to know… that’s not what this is, bunny.”

“I know,” you clear your throat, fighting through the thick of emotion building there, accumulating in heaps, “I know that.”  

“But we do need to talk about him, you know that?” Darkness creeps along the wispy, dream-like cocoon the two of you built on the couch, and you push it away, try to banish it, basking in the comfort of his arms instead.

“I can’t, I… right now it feels like I’m in a dream where nothing hurts and nothing can scare me or hurt me, and I don’t-“

“You’re not in a dream, bunny. That’s your reality. This is real. Nothing can, or will, hurt you, scare you. No one will ever touch you again.”

“I need more time. Please.” Simon sighs, but doesn’t push, and the two of you lay there, together, suspended in comforting silence. For another moment, your world is a dream. A safe, beautiful dream, where happy endings are real, where love stretches on for eternity, unconditional, limitless, unbreakable.

You’re so different now, stark changes shocking to the girl you once knew, the one who doubled back on her routes to and from work, the one that walked everywhere with her hackles up. Little pieces of black rot now turned a blinding white, a brilliant beam seeking to shine on the whole of your life.

It’s a dream.

One you won’t easily surrender.

“I was really young.” It comes during a lapse in conversation, practically a blurt, an interruption pushing heat to your cheeks. Expelled from your mind, your body without choice, cracks appearing in the preservation that you’ve so defiantly clung to. You have to tell them, eventually. You have to break it all apart, let them see. Johnny’s mouth opens, and Simon’s hand darts to his wrist faster than a snake could strike, a clear signal. Don’t speak. “Obviously now, looking back on it, I realize I was groomed, or I guess, easily influenced. He was older, and I graduated early, started college early. I was in my second year when I turned eighteen. My mom,” the lump in your throat nearly chokes you until you swallow it down, “my mom busted her ass for me. I went to college on scholarships and her hard work.” Metal clanks against ceramic, forks settling on the edges of plates. “Anyway, everyone always thought I was a know-it-all and pretty awkward. We weren’t officially like, together right away but it was pretty serious from the day I met him. Eventually… he started to change me. Change my goals. He even manipulated my career path.”

“What did you go to school for?” Simon asks casually, head tilted.

“Bioscience. I wanted to be a doctor, so I thought it would transition well for med school. Thought I could become a surgeon.” You were a girl then; you know that now. Naïve, misguided by a hand that sought to control you, not love you as you hoped. It’s embarrassing, baring this, showing these broken bits and pieces to them, shattered shards of a mirror never glued back together.

“What happened?”

“He did.” Johnny squeezes your hand. “Made it to pre-med but ended up leaving and starting a nursing program instead. It’s what he wanted, and by then, I couldn’t say no.”

“But ye didnae want it, to be a nurse.”

“No. I didn’t. I love my job now, of course, and I’m happy in it, but originally, I wanted something else. He tricked me, in all honesty. Showed me something that wasn’t real, reeled me in, and then revealed his true colors.” You shudder. “The first time… the first time it happened, I shook it off, forgave him. I-“ the memory is still so strong, it stuns you. The blood from your busted lip is fresh on your tongue, sting on the side of your face turning to a blooming ache.

“Bunny?” Johnny’s grip moves to your elbow, strong, but not too tight. An anchor. You shake your head.

“Sorry.”

“Ye’re alright, ye can stop if-“

“No, I… I want to share these things with you. It feels like I’m supposed to, like you should know me… like this.”

“We already know you, sweetheart. Don’t push yourself.” Simon’s tone is serious, and you nod.

“It’s embarrassing, looking back on it and realizing how bad it was, how bad I let it get. How I let him cut me off from everyone, change my career, squash me like a bug.” You laugh, but it’s empty.

“Ye did nothin’ wrong,” Johnny’s lips press together, muscles in his jaw straining, “was never yer fault.” You don’t answer, just trace the woodgrain of the table, texture moving beneath your fingers. The conversation is draining you, leeching light away like a horizon swallowing the last of the sun.

“He’s rich. Like, fuck you money rich. Rich like make problems go away rich, and his job…” your head shakes again. It’s the most you’ve ever said, heavy buried secrets finally dug up, resurrected, the truth trembles through your bones. “He has resources. Has chased me across the globe more than once. My only saving grace is that when he has to work, he has to work, and it’s usually for long chunks of time.”

“I know you’ve said you’re not really sure, but did he ever tell you what his job entails?”

“He’s in the military. Some sort of security work, department of defense, or something. He never really talked about it.” Johnny shifts in his seat, antsy, and you shrug. “He kept that part of his life very, very private. There was even a room in the house that was always locked.” Your head is heavy, lead upon your shoulders, and Johnny tucks his arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“I know this is hard bun, but ye’re so brave for us. Lettin’ us know ye this way. I’m proud of ye.” He murmurs, lips to your forehead, and you fully relax, wrapping around his middle.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, eyes closing, and he rubs your back.

“Let’s get ye to bed then.”

“Your child is too big for me to carry!” You announce, hand on your hip, little backpack straps looped around your arm. Simon closes the door behind you, chuckling, and Penny plops onto the floor. She goes to a nursery day program now a few days a week, something that was a contentious subject in the house for far too long, opinions and arguments ping ponging over your head until the decision was finally made.

“It’s not safe.”

“Ye cannae keep ‘er locked up here forever, love.”

“Why not?” Simon bounced Penny against his chest, unimpressed look on both their faces, so alike you almost busted out laughing.

“Because she’s a child. She needs to be w’other children, not just us.” Johnny brings his free hand to his lips, squeezing Simon’s wrist. “I know ye’re scared.” Simon’s not the only one who’s scared, you thought. Phillip lurked at the edge of your mind, worry that he might find Penny plagued you, even though they both assured that wasn’t their main concern.

“She’s too little.”

“Simon. We agreed on this,” Johnny gives him a sharp look, “do yer research, find the best one. Ye know this needs to happen, for her. She needs to make friends, learn how to interact with kids her own age. Ye know this.”

“Fine.”

“She cannae be, not m’wee lamb.”

“She is.” You rub your shoulder. “Sheesh.” Penny’s stomach gurgles at your feet, and Simon grimaces.

“There’s a bug goin’ around the kids, teacher told me today.”

“Not surprising. Nurseries are little petri dishes.” You straighten your back, rolling your shoulder, and wince.

“Hurts?” Simon’s thumb digs into the soft spot there, and your lashes flutter.

“Maybe ye need a hot bath,” Johnny suggests, and Simon ushers the two of you up the stairs.

“I’ve got Pen. Go relax.”

“This is nice.” Johnny soaps your back, lavender and vanilla steam swirling around in the bathroom as you lean against him, his chest to your back.

“Aye.” The cloth drags across your chest, teasing your nipples, and you revel in his touch, soaking in every second he gives you, the brush of his cheek against yours, his lips on your neck. “Like havin’ ye all to myself sometimes.” You blink.

“Does it bother you? When we’re not all together?”

“No. Ye have a relationship wit’ me, and wit’ Simon, and we have a relationship all together. No one is the same. I like it.”

“Me too.” You settle again, loose and tender in the bath, soaped hands running up and down your back, kneading your shoulders, releasing the tension coiled in your bones. You groan.

“Feel good then?”

“Yeah.” He presses a hand over your heart with a deep breath, before he takes another.

And then one more.

“What’s wro-“

“I love ye bun. Wholly. Think ‘ve loved ye since the day I opened my eyes to ye leaning over the bed in hospital.” You turn, twisting to face him, and he dabs your nose with his thumb. “I dinnae have any expectations of ye, or yer feelings, but I had to be honest. I had to tell ye.” The confession fights its way forward, begging to be let out, to be freed.

Tell him. Tell him the truth. Tell him you love them, that they’re your light, that they’ve chased the darkness away and replaced it with the sun.

You can’t.

Instead, you rest your forehead against his, syncing your breathing, sharing the moment, holding onto him so tight in case he slips away.

“I can’t say it.” You whisper, and he nods. “But that doesn’t mean… it doesn’t mean it’s not there. I’m just… I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“An’ that’s okay. I’ll wait, I’ll wait for ye as long as ye need.” There’s no pressure, no demands, just Johnny and his arms, his understanding and patience, his love.

You blink back tears and crash your lips to his. “Thank you.”

Your stomach is what wakes you.  

Something it in is burning, tossing bile around, the sensation strong enough your lips curl, and you try to draw a deep breath through your nose.

You wriggle, trying to pull free from where you’re tangled up in Simon and Johnny, carefully and slow, hoping to avoid waking them though you know even in their dreams, they sleep with one eye open.

 Still, you manage to make it to the bathroom before feet are padding across the carpet on your heels.

You sink to your knees in front of the toilet, stomach bubbling, sending the scorching remnants of dinner up your throat.

The door clicks open. “No, get out. I don’t want you to see-“ you gag again, tap turning on at the sink, a cold washcloth folding over your neck.

“Shhh,” Simon murmurs, rubbing your back, “get it all out.”

“Oh god,” another wave swells, and your muscles tense, body expelling bits of bile and not much else.

“That’s the way, good girl.”

“This is gross.” You gasp. “You should go back to bed.”

“I’ve seen way worse than you puking, sweetheart.”

“She alright?” Johnny half yells from the bedroom and you groan. The guilt of him having to maneuver himself out of bed, still not one hundred percent healthy, still not back to full strength, draws a shiver from your spine.

“I’m fine, don’t come in here!” Your stomach pitches, fingers tightening against your thighs, but nothing comes up, again and again, until everything settles and you’re breathing deeply, steady, back straight.

“Let’s get you some water.” There’s no point in arguing with him. He’s going to do what he wants to do when it comes to taking care of you, you know that now. It’s painfully clear as he tries to help you drink from the glass, and then puts toothpaste on your toothbrush.

“I’m fine.” You assure weakly, but he only watches you, concerned.

“Think it’s the nursery bug?”

“Probably.” You sag, energy drained completely, and he steadies you, cupping your cheek. His touch is cool, and you lean into it, savoring the reprieve it brings against your throbbing temples.

“Want to go back to bed?”

“What if I throw up again?” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll jus’ clean it up.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You glance up at the timid mouse of a nurse, brand new, fingers clutched around a tablet like she’s drowning and it’s her life vest.

“What’s up?”

“Can you… can you look at these orders for me?” She looks terrified, and it tells you everything you need to know. She’s probably caught a mistake.

Baby nurses begin their careers in a delicate position. They’re overwhelmed, fresh off a whirlwind of orientation, overloaded with policy and procedure, and depending on their preceptor, either somewhat prepared or completely lost. Pitting a baby nurse against a provider, even a first-year resident, is like sending a lamb in to confront a lion. The result is usually tears.

She hands you the tablet and you spot it immediately. Incorrect dosage.

“Good catch.” You reassure, coaxing a small smile, and she nods.

“What do I do?”

“We go find the provider and clarify the dosage.” You’re not going to leave it up to her, alone, hang her out to dry and probably get run over by whatever moron ordered it in the first place, who happens to be-

Marshall.

Your eyes couldn’t roll any harder. “The pharmacy is also very on top of seeing errors like this, but it’s good you’ve noticed too, for the patient and yourself. Liability for things like this can be very tricky.” She nods again, trailing behind you, brand new squeaky sneakers echoing your own steps.

You can’t stop the sigh that escapes you when you find him, leaned up against a wall, arms crossed, smirking, cocking his head at your companion. “What’s up?”

“Can you take a look at this for me?” You purposefully zoom in on the meds tab, practically painting a bullseye around his error. He scoffs, defensive immediately, dismissive, before he takes a closer look, jaw clenched.

“That’s my mistake.” You blink. Marshall rarely ever takes responsibility so gracefully. Your eyebrow lifts.

“Care to fix it?”

“Of course.” His agreement is punctuated with a smile, though it’s off kilter.

“You can go,” you nod to the nurse, “good job.” Her eyes dart between you and Marshall, and without another word, scampers off.

“She’s new?” His usual interest in new nurses is less enthusiastic than ever.

You hate Marshall. He’s a scumbag. But he’s also been your coworker since day one, and you can’t help yourself. “What’s up with you?”  

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never owned up to a mistake that quickly, and you didn’t even make some smart-ass remark. Or berate her. Or give me an attitude.” He winces.

“It’s nothing.” But it doesn’t seem like nothing. It seems like something is wrong, like he’s sad, or depressed, and try as you might, your bleeding heart can’t walk away.

“What’s wrong.” You phrase a statement, a demand, instead of a question, and he blows a frustrated breath.

“It’s… I’m seeing someone.” Your eyes go wide.

“Who?” Please don’t say a nurse, please don’t say a nurse, please-

“Anna. From radiology.”

“Oh my god. The cupcake girl?” Anna was a fan favorite. Not only was she kind, but she was also quick with her reads, and baked cupcakes for the entire floor almost once a month. As far as radiologists go, she was better than most.

“Yeah.”

“Okay…”

“I really like her but… she’s always been aware of my reputation and is trying to take it slow. Too slow.” You could lecture him with a million reasons why she’s in the right, but it doesn’t seem like he’s got the resolve to handle it.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s dragging her feet. Doesn’t want to hang out more than once a week, rarely stays the night. I’ve been to her place a handful of times, but that’s it.”

“How long has it been?”

“Two months.” You laugh.

“That’s it?”

“It’s a long time for me!” You hold your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but seriously. Two months is no time at all. Have you discussed the… reluctance with her?” He seems uneasy, and for the first time, you’re not sure if you enjoy watching him squirm.

“Yeah. She says she’s happy, but isn’t trying to jump into anything,” his air quotes carry a whiff of the condescending asshole you know too well. This conversation couldn’t be timelier, and you think back to what you told Johnny the other night.

“Just because she’s taking it slow doesn’t mean her feelings for you aren’t there. You have to respect that. If she’s still putting up with you after two months, I’d bet she’s just being cautious. Getting hurt sucks.” He nods thoughtfully. “Give her the time she’s asking for, and don’t give up.”

Don’t give up.

The sentiment twists a knife lodged deep in your heart. Is that what will happen to you? Will they give up? Get tired of waiting for you to spill all your secrets, get tired of waiting for you to take the final step? To tell them you love them?

Get tired of waiting for you to let them use your real name?

“I didn’t expect her, didn’t expect to feel this way.” The mask comes down, revealing a hopelessly lovesick heart, the depth of it shining in his eyes.

“I don’t think anyone ever does expect it. That’s the surprising thing about love, I guess.” You sway, a palm pressed to the wall as your hand flattens over your stomach.

“You alright?” Marshall’s voice is far away as you breathe through your nose, trying to fend off the nausea tightening your throat.

“Sorry, I’ve been a bit under the weather. Think I’ve got a bug or something.” Your stomach roils in warning, and you barely grit out an apology before dashing away.

Just in time to toss your breakfast up in the toilet.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard you in the toilet. You didn’t sound fine, and you shouldn’t be working if you’re sick.” Your manager shakes her head like she’s disappointed, and you glare. You both know if you had called this morning talking about a stomach bug, she would have told you to suck it up unless you were actively vomiting.

“Look around. Do you see an excess of nurses on the floor?”

“We’ll manage. Or call someone in.” You shake your head.

“We’re already way past policy ratios.” You bite your tongue when safe nearly slips out, not wanting to piss her off. That’s the union’s job.

“At least go sit down or something. Take a break. Come back in twenty minutes and let me know how you feel.”

Your closet is cozy, and for once during the day, unoccupied. The nausea has subsided, for now, and you shoot a text to the guys, asking about Penny. If you feel like this, you can’t imagine how she feels.

You curl up and imagine you’re home instead, maybe in bed with a sleeve of crackers and some soda, warm chest at your back, a hand stroking over your hip. Maybe you’d have some soup, maybe the three of you would watch a movie after Pen went down for bed. You start to drift in the domestic fantasy, sleeping curling itself like a blanket over your shoulders, until you’re startled by the vibration of your phone, foot kicking forward in a jolt against a shelf.

A box falls to the floor.

HCG strips.

You stare at it for a long time, numbers and dates and weeks mashing together, calculations getting lost in the fray.

You’re not…

No.

Ridiculous. Not even possible. You’re on the pill. Religiously.

You have the nursery bug that Pen brought home. Get a grip.

Still…

You use the fifth-floor bathroom, one of the only single occupant toilets in the whole damn hospital, nausea now coming from a completely different source.

The timer on your phone is incredibly slow, or maybe it’s just time itself, the world turning in slow motion, every second elongated into turbulent silence, too many thoughts, too many feelings, too much of everything to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Fear.

Anxiety.

Panic.

Sadness.

Grief.

It’s grief that is the strongest. Grief for something that Phillip stole, mourning for something that was once so close, so real, and then gone in an instant.

If you close your eyes, you can still feel his boot in your stomach. The press of a steel toe, jammed beneath your ribs, wild, deranged eyes staring down at you in a rage.

But-

Buried so, so far beneath the crushing weight of it all, there is a bright little pocket of sunshine. A small little sliver of light, beams of hope stretching for the sky, warmth spilling over until your hands tremble with the conflict warring inside you.

Nothing has changed, but everything could.

The timer goes off with a shrill chime, and you lean over the sink to where the small strip sits on top of a cup.

A bold pink line.

And then another, more faint, but certainly there. A simple equation, one plus one equals two. Simple math.

Tangible. Present.

Pregnant.

[mhsdatgo]

By the way, you can say you hate characters and STILL admit that they were abused or harassed. There's literally nothing wrong. Denying it or romanticizing it because of a strange kink of yours won't make your hate any less evident, trust me.

Rhaenyra was abused. She's continuously taken advantage of, and brushed away the moment she isn't needed anymore. And she experiences this first hand with her own father, who completely ruins motherhood for her when she grows up watching Aemma get impregnated and either miscarry or have the baby be stillborn or die in the cradle. If Viserys had been by her side as a supporter to her claim since the start, he wouldn't have gotten Aemma pregnant again and again in the pursuit of a male child. He wouldn't have married Alicent for the same reason. Even after, the only reason why he still stands by her side, and it's time the fandom accepts this, it's solely because of his grief and guilt, because Rhae is the only remnant of Aemma.

And there it starts. Firstly, groomed and left alone naked and alone by her uncle in a brothel. Secondly, slept with Criston Cole (although she did coerce him, that's still a literal TEENAGER) then she's married to a gay man and still approached super young by her new bodyguard and just one year later she's started giving birth to his children. (Side note: FUCK Rhaenyra x Harwin. FUCK with reverb. With hard K.)

And up to this point, most fan agree that she's had a shitty life, although I don't agree with some of her choices. (like her treatment of Criston Cole and the bastards, not because I'm some kind of bigot, but because passing bastards as trueborn in THAT precise world sets them up for failure, not being legally deserving of a thone DOES NOT mean me hating them. That's for another post.)

To top it all off, she meets her uncle again, and there starts the fanfic self insert. They have sex on a beach the day of Laena's funeral, the only one of the three wives he's ever been canonically loyal to (FUCK you writers) and fans think it's soulmates meeting again or sum shit. They subtly threaten Laenor to fake his death or actually die (that's what they were trying to do, cope harder) and marry mere days after the death of Laena.

Yes, all cute and romantic (for Dumbnyras twats) but literally, has it done anything good? For Rhaenyra or like, anyone else? It just brought Daemon closer to the line of succession. Literally. That's all the good it has done.

Fast forward to ep 10. How do I even start with this? Only Jace seems to be on Rhaenyra's side. It's clear he only obeys to Daemon out of fear and is scared to talk back to him. Meanwhile, he COMPLETELY disregards his wife's, and by his faction's loyalties, QUEEN's, orders, he ignores her wails of pain as she miscarries their daughter out of pure shock and grief for her father's death. He lashes out and chokes her on the same day and people still see him as the malewife to Rhaenyra's girlboss. They're always ready to do award-deserving mental gymnastic to justify this man.

"He was planning war because he wanted to distract himself!!!!" "He only choked Rhae because he was mad at Viserys, he'd never hurt her!!!!!!"

Fuck off. Coming from probably Rhaenyra's #1 hater. Fuck. Off. Don't say you care about her place in the view of men when you're ready to justify shit like this.

This is the same man who runs off and has an affair with a teenager, and then prefers going on and having a badass death instead of joining his wife and children who need him in King's Landing.

Do I like Rhaenyra? No. Do I think that, because of this, she's never been abused, or exploited in any way, in her life? ALSO no. My distaste for her character has NOTHING to do with Viserys, Criston, Daemon, Harwin or literally ANYONE ELSE in her life.

Alicent Hightower time, baby.

My mother, my aunt, my grandmother, my entire bloodline, my Roman Empire. And more. To anyone who thinks of her as nothing but a bitter/jealous girl, go read @feretrumdulcia 's post about this matter cuz there's literally no one I've seen that words it better. (And bub if you're reading, long live you and the way you think.)

https://www.tumblr.com/feretrumdulcia/720746371814195200/i-have-seen-quite-often-that-many-people-consider

Anyone who can read this and argue that Alicent is envious/jealous or bitter, honestly needs to take the heart shaped sunglasses off, get off tumblr and Ao3, learn what media literacy is and start learning how to possess a crumble of it. To us it makes sense to synpathize with both, because we've seen the big picture. To Alicent, Rhaenyra gave her virtue to the man that almost killed her brother, and chose to believe she did not out of trust and maybe nostalgia for her friendship and easier times, only to have her father be blamed and taken away from her as a result.

She has four kids in the span of, how much? Five, six years? Seven at best? Helaena and Aemond are NINE MONTHS APART. Viserys didn't even let her rest after she gave birth to her daughter. And I'm convinced 100% that he kept her as Idk some whore he didn't need to pay for because it's stated that he never wanted Aegon but the son he butchered Aemma for. Why keep on bedding her and forcing children on her when you'd never get what you want from her?

Throughout the series she's called bitter and downright a c*nt for this and that reason. She tries convincing Viserys that Rhae's children are CLEARLY bastards and she's setting herself and them up for failure by committing treason and putting them on the throne? Nah, power hungry, jealous, bitter. She marries Helaena to Aegon as a last resort because she's Valyrian and probably would've received proposals worse than the ones Rhaenyra made that would eventually convince Viserys to give her away? Hates her daughter, abuser, shitty mom. Rhae's sons slit her son's eye out instead of running when they had the chance and she rightfully lashes out? Nah, crazy ass, for the dungeons. She gives money and moon tea to her son's rape victim to ensure she gets a way out and isn't forced to have a baby she doesn't want? Bruh, rape apologist. She goes to Aegon and RIGHTFULLY disciplines him? Abuser. Forced to show her feet to a rancid filthy man to know where her son is? Upholds the patriarchy, hypocrite. She convinces Aegon to start fighting for her family because it's either them or the Blacks and he needs to start putting his life together and fight for them, so she crowns him and makes him King? Treason, deserves death, long live the brothel queens.

Somehow, it is ALWAYS HER FAULT. And those few that admit how wronged she was make fun of her.

CAN SHE FUCKING WIN?! Or y'all just hate her because she isn't Valyrian?

Btw almost all of these arguments are the same for Book!Alicent who I personally believe to be FAR MORE than just a bitter stepmom that hates her stepdaughter. She arguably has more reasons to start a coup against her in the books without that prophecy shit.

TLDR; It's OKAY to hate characters and admit they're abused and taken advantage of at the same time. You don't have a moral high-ground on no one because you hate or love a character instead of the other.

[christinebloodwrittings]

Hi, I was wondering if you could do an Alastor x Reader, where Reader and Alastor are about to get married, but the day before their wedding, Alastor mysteriously disappears. On their bed lays a note: “I’m sorry, I had to leave.”?

Heart in debt

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader Summary: "Until death do us apart" turned into a "Until I see you again in hell", when Alastor, for unknown reasons, decided to become a runaway groom. Warnings: Gore, bit of angst.

Sorry for the delay dearest, this work took 4 drafts and a lot of re-write, I hope the result is to your liking :3.

The venue was reserved in advance, your mother had chosen the perfect location for you. The catering service was already paid for, as was the florist, band and cake.

Everything was ready.

Looking back, as you finished getting ready for bed, with your nerves on edge, you remembered how your parents reacted when you told them you were getting married.

The best couple ever, welcomed your fiancé, Alastor, as if they had recognized the plague made person. The permanent smile, the aura of death, and well, something they saw in him made them act defensively.

However, of course, your father loved you more than anything in life, so since the ring was of high quality, he had a house on his name, he could provide for you and assure you a future with children, he had no choice but to swallow his opinions and daydream the day when you say he can shoot his brains out.

It was distasteful to you that your father wanted to kill your fiancé, but you knew he loved you and as long as he was with you, Alastor would be fine.

And he was waiting in bed, with his glasses on the edge of his nose, busy with a book. "Excuse me, madam, but if you hold the rifle like that, you will hurt yourself due to the force of the recoil" you remembered your first interaction, his voice was as soft as silk, manners polished up to perfection.

“Then, what would you say is the best way?”  you suspected he was going to say something mannish and arrogant, most man didn’t believed women could do nothing except cooking and breed children, judging by the eat shitting grin he was wearing, you were expecting the worst sexist comment.

Instead he asked your permission to help you, after you said yes, he gently moved your arms upwards to accommodate your position, then gently pulled sideways your hips, “Your support leg must be straight and tight, strong, otherwise you will fall back” then a rustle in the bushes alerted both of you, a white back deer.

“You can do it, aim” he encouraged you, watching the majestic prongs of the deer appear at the distance, “Breathe, don’t rush” his breath on your ear sent a shiver up your spine, “Now!” he spoke, you pulled the trigger, he held you during the push back, that kind of rifle was far too intense, even for him, but it had the enough power to kill the animal just fine.

“Do I have something on my face, dear?” he noticed your stare, smiling softly. You walked to him, pecking his cheek softly, “Now there is” he chuckled, setting his book on the nightstand, then he opened his arms to you, which were soon filled with your figure.

"I can't wait for us to be one" you snuggled against his chest, "Me neither, dearest" he pulled you closer, your hair ticking his nose. "At this hour tomorrow I'll be Mrs. Hartfield, I wish your mother were here to enjoy with us" his mom had passes away when he was a kid, but since your mother was friends with her, you got faint memories of the sweet woman that had raised your soon-to-be husband.

"She probably would have made a joyride out of the planning" his sarcasm got you giggling, "You're so mean" He kissed your temple, enjoying your laughter, "Rather honest, darling".

Nothing could go wrong at the moment, you were in cloud nine, until you woke up and noticed Alastor was gone. It was weird, usually he wouldn't move out of bed until you did. 

“My love, I'm sorry, I  had to leave. I realized I'm not ready. I'll be sending you money to compensate for the expenses. I'm sorry” Signed with his name, his calligraphy on a piece of paper next to his spot.

"Mamma?" You held the telephone life for dear life, barely holding on, "Did something happened my dear? You sound distressed" yes you were, also were under every type of weather, "He left, he left me a letter, and his clothes are gone" You chocked out on your words, tears falling onto your nightgown.

"Like full closet gone?" At her question you yelled back that he was gone, your heart shattered when you took notice that he even took his radio with him.

"I'll be there in just a moment; I'll make some calls okay?" She reassured you, "What happened?" You father spoke in the background, "Alastor left your daughter on her wedding day" Your mother tried to as delicate as she could, "Bastard! Don't worry baby, if he decides to come back, he's good as dead" he made the click of his shotgun sound against the phone, "I knew that son of a bitch was no good for my princess" he shouted.

"Maybe I did something wrong" you sobbed, "No sweetie, how can you think that? The lad wasn't ready, is no one's fault" Your mother tried to reassured you, but truth to be told, nothing could console you at that moment.

You refused to abandon his house, it was briefly yours before he went away, but the real reason was, that you still had some hope he would at some point come back. When he never did, you abandoned the house to live with your parents.

One night, returning late from your make up job at the speakeasy, you felt a rush, a cold feeling up your spine. Looking into the glass on the other side of the street, you caught the sight of a man, walking fast behind you.

Speeding up the pace, you ventured yourself into the swamp, the bayou. You knew Alastor had a hunting shed where you could at least arm yourself, you only had to run faster. Your heels at one point buried themselves in the mud, you had to continue on foot, a plus point since despite the stones and thorns on the way, you managed to reach the place.

You heard the paces even nearer, in a hurry you forced the lock to break, then took a rifle off the table inside, put three bullets in the chamber, then when the silhouette of your stalker opened up the door, he saw the end of the cannon pointing straight at his head.

“Turn back, leave!” your voice echoed through the trees, the wind eating up your voice quickly, “I will not repeat myself” you threatened, pulling the safety mechanism, “Poor little doll, you think you’re capable to-“ shakily, you fired, he was taken aback, nearly fallen to the ground.

“YOU WHORE!” he yelled, pressing a hand to his shoulder, “Leave, now” the rush that firing him gave you, was a sensation you couldn’t describe. It sent a shock of pleasure down your spine, you liked that feeling, even more so, when the one scared now, was him.

“Human scum” you aimed at his head, “See you in hell” his eyes took a less sharp look, his rage turned into fear, then absolute nothingness wrapped in blood.

Karma was a very ironic lady, when you pulled the man’s body to the lake, you tripped on an underwater root, your body barely above water caught the attention of a beast, and sooner than later, you were devoured by an alligator.

One man, one bloodlust rush sent you to hell.

A hundred years or so, after that incident, after surviving another extermination, hidden in a box in the closet. You felt a presence, something following you, you turned a corner, gun in hand, prepared to defend yourself if necessary.

When the footsteps stopped on the other side of the building, a shadow peeked its face towards you, the smile he was wearing was an amused one, especially when he saw you pointing the gun at him.

A slight unusual sound, seemingly a laugh, followed by its hand taking yours, only to leave a gentle kiss on your knuckles. “Rather dashing, are you not?” your fear was not yet dissipated, but it was so gentle, offering its arm to walk you down the street.

“I’ve been eager to salute you, though I must say, you are rather hard to find” his voice was merely a whisper, “Am I supposed to know who you are?” he stopped in his tracks, “My most sincere apologies, but I don’t own a name, I’m simply a reflection, a shadow of a man” it seemed sad, yet conscious of its existence.

“Does this man, who’s footsteps you should be following, knows me?” he nodded in response, following by a quiet “He does”. You thought back how many men you have consorted with, who might have access or knowledge of umbrakinesis, none came to your mind.

“Am I to be afraid of his intentions?” as any other man you have encountered, you’ve never been able to shake the fear, always having to have a gun attached to your waist, “He has none, he thinks he has hurt you enough, with his sudden absence” he had been prohibited to utter the incident, but he found a way to do so anyways without actually saying ‘Alastor left you, and it pains him every day’.

“Alastor” his name fell off your lips like hasn’t done before, in quite a while, “Will he agree to see me?” you asked, wanting at least an explanation, “He’s not the man you remember” the shadow warned, but you were persistent, “I’d like to see him, if he has a moment he can gift me”.

His nonexistent heart shook in his chest, “I’ll see what I can do” that sentence alone brought you more hope than anything in the world, “Can you do me one more favor? I’ll see that you get compensated” now in your home, you took paper and pen, at the same time that you took a tiny bag off one of your drawers.

“This are three pure gold coins, Spanish ones, Cortéz brought this ones himself” you placed the bag on its hand, “I hope you accept this as payment, to pass him a letter?” he nodded watching you take your quill and start writing to him.

When you were done, you melted a bit of candle wax, sealing your heart in that page, then he left with the letter.

“My dearest friend.

How the time has treated us, I hope will never know. If there was a god up there I shall thank him, for it brought you back to me somehow, however subtle presence that is.

Have you seen the changes? Are you still pursuing your ambitions? How have you been all these years? Many questions flooded my mind, as soon as your name was brought to me for the first time in a century.

If it’s not too much of a bother, I would like to see you, an hour is all I desire.”

I’ll await your answer, in whichever mean you see fit.

While reading the letter, Alastor made a pause, his eyes burning with the old feeling, the same crushing one he was hunted by ever since he left under the mantle of the night.   

“I am not mad at you, I just wish for clearance, closure.

Happy to make your acquaintance whenever you’d like.

Sincerely, Y/n.”

“Take the package with you, and make sure she’s safe” he ordered his shadow, who flew a couple days later to your doorstep.

A box, laced with a red ribbon. Your heart skipped a beat when you saw a radio inside, engraved with flowers and birds in the most exquisite wood that hell could offer. On top of it, there was a note that read “Play me”.

You sat by the fireplace, leaving the radio on the tea table, your shadow friend taking seat beside you while you push the button that was marked.

“One, two, three, testing? Can you hear me, my dear?” his voice was slightly different, there was a lot of static, but you wondered if that was his or the radio’s. “Yes, I can” yours was a melody he had yearn to be blessed with for years, “Wonderful, I had received your letter” your stomach was in tangles, awaiting his thoughts.

 “I do wish to see you, but I have something to tell you first, that may be quite daunting” your breath was caught in your throat, “Go on” you inquired, “The reason why I couldn’t marry you is due my activities in the woods, I am a killer and a cannibal, bringing pain to others grant me pleasure like no other” he laid the truth as plain as it could be, giving that he couldn’t see your eyes directly.

“Oh thank god” he was taken aback by your giggly sigh, “I thought you a…you know, someone that fancy other men” he laughed as well, he found the assumption ridiculous, also he thought strange that you’re so unfazed by his confession.

“You are glad?” you took a moment to find an answer without sounding like you’ve gone mad, “Alastor, are you a man that stalk women down to alleys to feast on their screams?” he answered a firm no to your question, “Are you a man that defiles other women?” another no.

“Do you enjoy killing the scoundrels you hated so much, bullies, the ones that take advantage of the ones with fairer means?” he took a second to pridefully answer “Yes”, you took the shadow’s hand as if it was his, “Then your mother and I can rest in peace, as cruel as you may be Alastor, you still hold your morals high, I cannot say the same regarding your honor” he laughed at the mention of the latter.    

“Did the cat caught your tongue?” he had fell silent for a minute, “No, I haven’t been at a loss of words in a while, is all” the shadow nuzzled against your hand, moving it so it could cup his cheek, “Can I pay you a penny for your thoughts? I think I might be saying it wrong; the young ones say it a lot” you giggled, adding to the ache in his heart.

“I didn’t expect you to be alright with it, it leads me to wonder, why are you down here?” you decided to be just as honest as he was, “I killed a man that had ill intentions towards me, and I liked it a little too much” his smile grew devilishly.

“Did he suffer?” if not, he was going to hunt him to grant the man a second demise, one he would ensure he would regret choosing you as his target. “The fear in his eyes, brought a smile to my face” oh he could not be more in love, he made a wise decision to send the radio, if he had you in front of him, he would’ve devour you entirely.

“How did you died?” he made a silent pray, with some hope that at least your death would not have been painful, “I was alligator food in the bayou, in an attempt to get rid of the body, September 4th, 1929” oh how that fact made a twist in his stomach, just like himself, you were eaten alive.

“I am sorry” you laughed, “For what? Your shed was the most convenient, I killed him with your hunting rifle, like you taught me” he remembered, it was the first time he felt actual pleasure in someone else’s warmth, “I can now stop regretting introducing you to the art of the hunt” the shadow placed a kiss on your temple, “Very much so”.

He felt your skin on his lips from within the connection with the sentient, “Will you join me tomorrow, for tea? I’m helping to rise a hotel with hell’s princess” oh so that’s where he was hiding around, you thought, “Fancy, I must be the one warning you now, I do not look…pleasant, I died in a swamp so I wear that fact in the form of my skin” you admitted.

Water nymphs were pretty, you were somewhat that, only more inclined to an eel. You had a long thin fin for hair, red-yellow spotty skin, sharp teeth, light brown scales covering your hips and torso, not to mention your clear blue eyes, not a choice of color but rather a blind looking hue, much like an eel.  

“Mon coeur, rest assure, I am more concerned of your reaction towards myself” he was to the limit of nearly arranging an emergency visit to Rosie’s for a new wardrobe, “I cannot wait to see you” until you spoke that lovely sentence, “Nor can I, my dear”.

The next day, without a wink of sleep, Alastor creeped behind the princes, after making the many preparations up in his personal bayou. “Charlie, I have a request” he purred, attempting to mask his excitement, “Sure Al, what is it?” the question pinched a curious itch in the princess, “Yeah, you rarely ask for things” added the fallen exterminator.

“I’ll have a guest today, one that I hold in high regards, so I’ll be excused to my room” excitement also brew in the princess itch, “Sure thing Al, no worries” she cheerly smiled at him. It seemed the fact he had company also touched the spider’s curiosity, or rather, surprise.

“Smiles got a date?” he looked in quite shock towards the feline bartender, who could do nothing more than scoff, “That’s impossible, it must be another soul he wants to own” he soon swallowed his own words given that Alastor materialized next to him, “Husker! Your best whiskey please” the way he utter the name of the former overlord was a warning laced with a threat.

Later that afternoon, a knock made Charlie sprint towards the door, outrunning Niffty. “Hello, I’m Y/n, lovely  to meet you, I’m here to see Alastor” you courtesy at the sight of the princess of hell, “Of course, come, come” who eagerly took your hand and pulled you inside, “He’ll be down in a minute”.

She had you sat in the lobby, with the company of Angel and Vaggie, “Sorry if I’m too curious, but how do you know Alastor?” Charlie began the small talk, ever so politely, “If he’s as mysterious as he was in life, your curiosity is well within your right, he’s a dearest friend of mine” the princess was impressed to know her host had more friends than that sleazy woman, Mimzy.

“Aww, how nice!” she also told you that there was no need for any more manners towards her, though you insisted giving the way you were taught ever since you were a child.

“Y/n” your name rolled off his tongue like the beginning of a poem, “Alastor” you turned your head around, before standing up, watching closely as he would not break eye contact with you, as he made his way around the couch.  

“Now those two were not just friends” Vaggie had a sly smile on her face, “That sexual tension is delicious” Angel added watching just how slowly Alastor brought your hand up to lay a kiss on your fingers. Your chest rising noticeably from your tight corset, the excitement was palpable indeed.

“Well if I must atone to the intrigue, she was my fiancé” an audible gasp filled the room, “Now, if you’ll excuse us” since never let go of your hand, he was able to swiftly place it on his forearm as he guided you to the stairs, “Princess, bye friends” you curtsied as you followed him along.  

He had arranged a white set of garden table and chairs, an ensemble of various sweets and meat treats displayed, along with a set of cups and plates in a remarkable shade of blue.

“Oh, Alastor this is exquisite! You shouldn’t have” you knew the meat was for him, he was never a fan of sweets, but you were, “Of course I had, please have a seat” he pulled your seat for you, pushing it ever so gently when you were already seated.

“Always so gallant” pride rose to his face in the form of a subtle rose color, he managed to hide it when his shadow came from a corner to give you a hug, “Oh hello you, he’s so cute, how come he doesn’t have a name?” if you didn’t knew better you would’ve thought that Alastor had gone green from envy, seeing his shadow receive more pets and attention than himself.

“It didn’t cross my mind, he wants you to do so” he sat in front of you as his tone grew bitter, “Alistair would be repetitive, I think William is the best bet” it intoned a purr, your hands caressing the base of its ears, “He likes it”.

He took the time you were distracted to prepare your cup of tea, adding just the right amount of sugar and mint leaves, that gesture brought your attention back to him, “You remember how I like my tea?” he had done that almost as a reflex, “Somethings never leave the mind” he admitted almost impressed with himself.

“You don’t look half as bad as your warning” you scoffed at his confession, “Don’t lie” you rolled your eyes earning a laugh from him, “I’m not”, but even with his sincerity you were conscious of your appearance, “Alastor, I’m part fish, I have scales, for crying out loud” from across the table he took your hand in his, “And I’m a deer, so? Could be worse” he had a point, you had seen the dreadful appearance of some rat demons, “Uhm, maybe you’re right”.

“Why did you leave?” after a long silence, accompanied by the sounds of the bayou, you decided to break the peace, addressing the ‘elephant in the room’. “I was afraid I would hurt you; you knew my step-father and now, my affairs” you were aware he had been raised by the end of a whip due to the monster his mother married, who you briefly met when your mother had tea with his.

“Alastor, you could never” he may be a killer, but you were certain he would never raise a hand to harm you, “You don’t know that, I am this, Y/n” it was your turn to give him a reassuring squeeze to his hand, “Did you loved me?” his eyes, quite more honest than the permanent smile he wore, widen to your question.

“I would’ve done anything to prevent harm from coming your way” you scoffed, “Yes, but did you loved me?” he let go of a breath he had trapped down in his lungs when he finally admitted the truth: “I still do”, but there was more to it, “I feel as…as if I had a debt to you, one I have no idea how to repay, nothing I think is enough” and indeed he had a mental list, burning hell to the ground was the top one choice.

“Is your hand one of the options? Your heart, perhaps?” the wish to wipe his head on the pavement had vanished a long time ago, forgiveness was perhaps the toughest thing to accomplish, but your pride wasn’t that big.

“Is not enough” he shook his head, believing that his heart was either too small or nonexistent, “It would, with time, you do owe me a century” you didn’t wanted to let go of his hand, it was the first long contact from him on years, “I’m…not worthy of you” he tortured himself ten times more than hell already did, but you just shrugged, “Who is then, if it’s not you?”.

“You didn’t marry anyone after I left?” you certainly didn’t, “No” he had imagine you at least could love someone again, be happy, “Why?” but you held him in your heart until the very day you died,  “Silly hope” that broke him, if he had a choice, his smile would’ve fade in a heartbeat.

“I’m sorry” he pulled gently of your hand, leading to sit across his lap, “Water under the bridge” he delight himself in your hand caressing his cheek, lightly, almost asking for permission, when unknowingly he was yours.

“Not for me” he pressed his ears to the back of his head, allowing you to caress him, as his arms hugged your figure close to his chest. “We have eternity, if you’ll have me” he was so glad you mentioned that option, it gave him the opportunity to pull from his pocket a beautiful diamond ring, rose gold.

“Your mother’s ring?” you were in shock at the same time as excited, yet scared as well, “Will you leave again?” he cupped your cheek, placing a kiss near the corner of your mouth, “Hell will freeze over first” you imitated his gesture, “Then, you can ask” his smile softened.

“Y/n, will you marry me?” just as he slipped the ring on your finger, you whispered in his ear, “I’ll have your head if you leave again, yes” sending a shiver down his spine, “Please do” a kiss sealed the engagement just like the first time he had ask.  

[christmasjade]

My thoughts on Married in Red+ My general thoughts on Studio Investigrave !

So I really like this game

It was fun to be able to play it on my own with no help from Youtubers and stuff ^^

The game has 1 ending, though you can have 2 different kinds of game overs lol (I'll get to that later)

The mc (Bok-su) and her relationship with the bride (Da-Jeong) is sad , but not shocking lol. You can kind of tell from the promotional art (and the theme of atonement said in the itch.io description) that Da-Jeong and Bok-Su are not on good terms.

I like that Bok-su was able to get her revenge on Da-Jeong. Obviously her way of doing it is horrible, and the groom (Myeong-hoon) being a main part of her revenge is sad, because he had nothing to do with this.

However, I dont feel that bad for Da-Jeong at all. Yeah, two wrongs dont make a right, and people panic, but she essentially ruined Bok-Su's life and reputation to save her own ass, so I really can't bring myself to feel too bad for her.

Sure you can argue that the situations are different, with Bok-Su purposefully killing Myeong-Hoon meanwhile what Da-Jeong did was a mistake, but I personally am a firm believer of getting your lick back, so 🤗..

I also like how the deaths and reactions are the exact same lmao.

The patient Da-Jeong killed was a man, and his mother said something along the lines of like.. "You killed my son" (I dont exactly remember, depsite me literally just playing LMAOO) and Myeong-Hoons mom literally says the same thing/something adjacting to that too Da-Jeong.

Da-Jeong runs off and during her break down says "I didn't do it-", which is what Bok-Su says when shes retelling the story of what Da-Jeong did to her.

Bok-Su had to goal of getting her payback to make Da-Jeong atone and she accomplished it. And the crazy thing is, despite everything that happened, Da-Jeong never said sorry.

She never said sorry. Not when Bok-Su showed up to the wedding, not when the two of them where alone in the garden, and damn sure not when Da-Jeong had "enough" of Bok-Su being there.

She never said sorry, not even when she pointed the blame onto Bok-Su. In fact, Bok-Su repeats a line that Da-Jeong said to her when (I'm assuming so anyway) the incident happened. Da-Jeong told her that she didnt have anything to worry/be mad about.

The ending of the game, obviously, isnt really a happy ending. Bok-Su gets her revenge and makes Da-Jeong go through what she did but 10× worst. So sure its happy for her,but its still horrific lol

Which is why I love endings for the games that Studio Investigrave makes. With the exception of Cold Front, all of the endings across all the games arent truly happy ever after kind of endings.

With Dead Plate, Rody either has to kill Vincent after finding out his ex was killed and turned into food by him AND after he tried to do the same to Rody.

Yeah Rody makes it out alive, but theres still a horrible and traumatic incident that happened. He knows why Vince did it, and was able to get rid of him, but it doesn't erase the fact that Manon is still dead. (Or with the other ending he leaves the restaurant and never find Manon, because shes in the fridge "missing".)

With Elevator Hitch, the cycle repeats for Protag. When he finally gets the chance to leave the Elevator and the building, hes stopped by some..guy ?? (Who looks like an alternate lmao) and is convinced that he needs the job. The exit doors then open up into the elevator again. He never leaves that building, and is probably stuck in a time loop.

With Eloquent Countenance, Angelica either gets the ritual redone on her by the cult, or is stuck in the cult with the knowledge that shes not the only one in her body. But that she shares it with an angel pretending to be the dead wife of the cults pastor.

Yeah, she lives, but she has to wait until Forcas can fully save her from her possession by said angel. The ending, like Dead Plate and Married in Red, is horrific.

And then with the other ending of Cold Front , if you push Winnie off the stairs, he dies in the crash and Auggie takes his place. It's a happy ending for Auggie, sure, but he never gets the closure or the realization that Winnie was never the wicked and mean person he made him out to be in his head. Its disturbing how content he is with it, with the fact that his former best friend is dead and how he replaces him.

But yeah, erm... the game was fun, 10/10 ^^

[y-rhywbeth2]

Ketheric continues to be the member of the Chosen I struggle to get a grip on. Like the other three I can tell you the details of why (I think) they grew up to monsters:

Long post.

-

Let's start with Gortash: spent his childhood being told he was a selfish monster for his thoughts - apparently from birth - for the way he perceived the world, for *checks notes* wanting his parents attention as an undeveloped human being that relies on its parents to survive and thrive.

Then his parents send him to hell as part of a deal. Because that's where monsters go isn't it? They go to hell to suffer eternal damnation because they were monsters in life.

So you grow up in one of the literal cesspits of the universe, where the only people you meet are the literal scum of the universe, or those you're going to learn to see as weak fools who had to rely on others - and were ultimately willing to commit atrocities themselves - who were taken advantage of by the scum of the universe. You get to the Hells by committing atrocities, either because you want something so badly you'll fuck somebody over for it (out of greed, or because you couldn't fix it yourself (weak)) or because you did them of your own volition. And curiously, some of these people had their price tags wrapped in such subtle terms they don't even realise they did anything wrong! Lesson learned; anyone will willingly be a monster if you make the evil sound nice. Every single devil you meet has had the humanity flayed from their soul, and they got to where they are in their existences by fomenting (and committing) hate and rape and murder and everything evil under the sun as a regular Monday morning in the ultimate goal to make the universe an evil place. Devils are also 'self made men', everybody started from nothing as a lemure and clawed their way to where they are now. Every social interaction in the Hells is manipulation and abuse. Everyone there hurts everyone.

But you do have one example of a good person! There's Hope! Lovely lady, kind and sweet... Trapped in hell being abused forever going insane because of it because your ambitious sister fucked you over. That's where trust and love being a good person gets you.

And that was his entire social life. That was the people he had to look to for examples. All his early experiences were limited to a sample of the absolute worst it has to offer, and he has a very skewed view of the universe.

And the fact that he's apparently so damn good at sex a lady gave him a ring worth everything she owns after growing up around a pleasure devil whose role is harming and corrupting people with sex and has built in charm person at etc is not ringing alarm bells(!) I'm not side-eyeing the boudoir at all.

I wonder why having a child/teen spend their formative years in the evil factory literally designed to spit out monsters... spat out a monster? Kudos to Karlach, though: just how many layers of defence mechanisms has she got in her brain?

Gortash's thought processes are 50% through the lens of engineering and 50% through the lens of a devil's perspective to me. People will sell out others for their own gain, because they're too weak to do it themselves or because they're bastards. If you don't get with the programme you're the victim. You only get ahead by being ruthless. Everybody is untrustworthy, and relying on them will get you betrayed. The world is divided into the weak and the ruthlessly strong who take what they want. Yes, he's a monster. And so are his parents. And so is everyone. And then Bane saw this perfect example of his way of thinking and said 'that one.'

-

Orin: obviously we've got grooming. The fact that her formative memories include her mother trying to murder her, and the fact that she feels like the only person who has ever cared about her or supported her is her grandfather. Who is implied to have been raping her, or intending to. All she's permitted is to have her brain poisoned by her faith, which her life revolves around, and then her kin 'does it all wrong' and inherits everything she's been groomed to believe is hers. But no, 'they're not wrong,' says everybody around her 'you are!'

She's a Bhaalspawn, so her relationships with her kin are "kill or be killed," as Helena proved. You will please father by slaughtering your siblings, or you will die - or worse. You must be and stay favoured by Bhaal above all the others to be truly safe ("safe"), and Durge outranking her is a threat to her existence. Actually Durge existing is a threat to her well-being. She has no way to live a life outside the cult, never has and never will. Her life is insanely lonely and mostly consists of paranoia.

But the overlaying theme here is that she's a changeling. She's mirrorkin with no unique physical identity of her own, she can only reflect those of others. To be dnd canon accurate: she has no real facial features, no pigmentation. She's not permitted an identity of her own, and was punished for trying. She's a mirror born and raised to reflect the glory of Bhaal, the glory of her failed grandfather, the rise of Bhaal's favourite child. Never her own. Gee, I wonder why she literally wears people's skins.

Denied the ability to do anything but live according to what she's told, she does her best to live up to it because to fail is to become her parents and the countless aunts and uncles currently enjoying their damnation in the Throne of Blood. And then she's told she's doing it wrong. By everybody. She's a 'rabid dog'. She, despite having doctrine poured into her ears and probably carved into her flesh her entire life 'doesn't understand Bhaal.' And everybody is insanely patronising about it! You're never allowed to be anything but what we tell you to be, but you're still not good enough! Which is death. The Temple of Bhaal needs murder feminism.

-

The Dark Urge is my favourite little nightmare, and I've talked about them at length: much of Orin's trauma also applies to them, although where she's a mirror made to reflect the egos of others, Durge is only allowed one identity: Bhaal's. Where Orin can never seem to reach the standards forced on her, Durge is never allowed to fail to meet them, or else. Every outside connection they ever had was brutally sabotaged, and they've had 'you're a monster and only I (your abusive Father) can love you' drilled into their mind. They hate themself. We got the threat of sexual exploitation (assuming it didn't happen), there's a subtle undercurrent of incest to some interactions. The prayer for forgiveness kind of sums it all up: 'I'm sorry for forming an emotional connection that isn't blind love for you father, but don't fret, I'll destroy it with my own hands just like everything else and then finally get to kill myself just like I've always wanted.'

-

But Ketheric? Like villains don't need tragic backstories to be terrible people, but it does make them more interesting.

OK, so your bio family is fucked up and I definitely get the impression that they sucked (Malus is giving me vibes that say he'd have been a villain anyway, and might've been secretly Sharran to start with; Gerringothe seems to be drowning whatever her issues are in gold), and then the loving family you made for yourself broke: your wife died, and your daughter died, sure. But plenty of people on Toril probably have similar if not the same stories and didn't go evil overlord! Why are you doing this? What is informing these decisions? Why does your existence hinge so much on your dead daughter that your son is basically named after her and you seem to hate him for existing and not being her? Does Shar have something to do with it? Has Ketheric just carved out so much memory and emotion, so much of his own identity, that all that's left is the grief and the hunger for the pain to stop but, as per Shar's intent, it keeps coming back, with less and less positive memories to soften the pain. A wound that festers and never heals. Is the obsession with Isobel because she's the icon of everything that was good in his life, and her loss was the moment everything good was gone? Was he a rational man who turned to Shar to stop the pain in a moment of understandable grief and rage at her sister, and then was trapped in a cycle that destroyed everything that was good in that man until we get the General?

Just guess working my way through his entire backstory...

[satocidal]

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ 𓂂 ˚ ☆ “Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene” — Geto Suguru

Synopsis: For money and power, Suguru would do a lot, but for a love he didn’t want? Somehow, he finds himself bending even the strongest of ideals. Five years ago he’d saved a monkey—not actually processing the estranged entanglement that would lead him to.

— word count: 8.7k

— A/n: I wouldn’t be a thorough Suguru fucker if I didn’t write cult Geto and just something I (we) deserved<;3

— New Taglist: since the last one got confusing, here’s a new one babies&lt;3

— Warnings: smut!!MDNI!!Afab! Reader x Suguru; use of religious themes; minor death; power play; slight gore; impact play; sub-dom dynamics; degradation; humiliation; impact play (fem receiving); oral (m! And f! Receiving); reader is mostly referred to as a female; complicated storyline; mentions of blood

The first bell.

The second bell.

Then the third.

Married.

~5 years ago~

The words echoed in your head, over and over and over and over—it hurt.

His hands were soft as they held yours, he led you slow, your father’s did.

The white veil that you’d spent hours to decide upon, the one you would never care about—it swept beside you, gasps escaping the lips of many as you walked out. And there, there your eyes met his.

Poised he stood, white hair slicked back—nothing like those superficial memories his Servants had sung to you about, nothing like the glimpses you’d caught of him. This man, the one on your altar—that was Suguru Geto.

Not the Geto-Sama you’d heard of, the ones who was a deity to all- a pretty hand fared upon those who sought him blindly; not the Curse user Geto, the fugitive you recognised him to be, the one you hated—no.

None of that.

This was Suguru Geto—your husband to be.

You hadn’t assumed your wedding to be a fairytale—in all honesty, you hadn’t assumed anything at all. But the heart of the little girl in you wept, openly so, when the worn upon thin line of a supposed smile didn’t do so much as even cast a shadow upon you. Not to be perceived wrong, however—Suguru certainly had grinned and smirked, laughed and tickled himself senseless—perhaps so to forget this ordeal—to forget you.

Eyes moist, a tear he did let go off—superficial it was, you knew it, but a saint Suguru Geto would be deemed the next day in the whispers of his followers, especially the ones who envied to be you.

Don’t get me wrong, congratulated by everyone—he did show joy, in some meaning of the word, just not the way you hoped—or even supposed for that matter.

Yours was never meant to be that perfect wedding, not at the core of it—you knew that from day one of the sequenced wedding but then—just something, a little dream and heart crushed grudgingly when you realized it wouldn’t be your husband who cried the moment he set his eyes on his bride—it wouldn’t be you telling those cute stories about your wedding day.

It wouldn’t be you—it was normal you’d heard, for grooms to be overwhelmed in their weddings- the thought of spending a forever with his bride, the supposed memories flooding their mind—but it wouldn’t be for you. He stood there with hands behind him, eyes awaiting your presence still.

A smile he held—empty as you joined him—eyes were very telling your father had preached, never once had you found him to be wrong.

His hands felt cold as you held them—cold like the storm his warm hands had saved your family from, colder still somehow was his presence, then and now. And you realized, your heart — to what you had thought to be a void, trained so — breaking as you realized that the marriage was a cage to him as much as you. Neither happy—he wasn’t happy within your presence, or anyone else’s.

Pathetic.

But again, did it truly matter?

The wedding had begun— officiated, soon your “I do”s would slip, the wedding couldn’t be stopped now, not ever.

And in that moment your eyes flickered to your own mother—she stood regal.

Embroidery she’d fought into you, cooking and baking, sewing a skill she’d made you own too—pity she couldn’t teach you controlling your emotions—pity you despised all that was your influence.

Your eyes managed to flicker onto him—saintly, your brain mused—your heart couldn’t help but agree. And those saintly features held an ugly heart you told yourself, solace to a lonesome mind.

“Suguru, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Y/N, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forevermore?”

When he took a moment to answer with a blank gaze, you could feel tiny pricks being sent straight to your heart. Just a mere glance at his stolid mien was enough for you to believe that he was going to call off the wedding and run away—mayhaps you wanted that, mayhaps, you didn’t.

What else could you expect?

He clearly didn’t want this, understandable was the fact. It wouldn’t surprise you if he took a step back and announced that he couldn’t go on in making an oath to offer the rest of his life with you. That he would rather get out of this hell hole and be somewhere else than to proclaim a love that was being forced out of him.

But it was his choosing, was it not? And mayhaps, yours.

The cult leader had chosen you, and in the process, you—him.

He’d watched you a while, days, you knew of his lingering gaze—respectful then, disgusting now.

“I do,” he professed, despite the inner turmoil that plagued his head.

You sighed—soft.

“Y/n, do you promise to love, honor and cherish and protect Suguru, forsaking all others, and holding only unto him forevermore?”

You remembered the day clearly—father had knocked once on your once—a new found privacy in your sheltered house was the first sign.

A wide smile—“He’s chosen you.”

Your heart sunk.

He’d chosen you.

Your eyes were quick—a glance here and there and everywhere—the pause was heavy; you watched your father’s nod of encouragement—your mother’s sharp eyes—his daughters’ smile, innocent - his followers’ sip of champagne—your sister’s eyes were hazy; his best man’s tipsy.

You couldn’t say no—“I do,”

“Bride and Groom, you have heard the words of love and marriage, have exchanged your vows and made your promises, and celebrated your union with the giving and receiving of rings. It is at this time that I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the officiant declared, “you may now kiss the bride.”

Your eyes widened behind your veil- not your first- the breath hitched as Suguru removed your veil—crystal seemed his eyes, crystal clear was his distaste. He was tall—comical in fact—you tip toed slight, he leaned in a bit—the kiss was warm, chill, foreign. His hand rested upon your cheek, a stroke—a pull, brief.

Your eyes watched as he pulled away, a new smile on his lips—an actor he would have proven to be—or, as you knew, he was.

A million thoughts clouded you and him—known to only the two of you—marriage worked quick in that sense you supposed, your mother and sister were perhaps right. But when all was said and done—the marriage was officiated.

And your eyes met then—a thought passed between you and your husband—stuck together—sincerely, fuck you.

The ride back ‘home’ was tedious, it burnt, it burnt all too much.

“Geto-Sama will prove to be amazing,” the driver yapped yet, all too soon—as he had been for the past anxious hours—time moved slow, slower than the gaze you didn’t dare hold against him.

A soft smile he held, serene as if, “I’m sure he will be,” just as fake a smile you held too—husband and wife—equal footing, equal qualms at the truth you didn’t accept and lies you foretold.

‘Geto-sama’ this and a ‘Geto-sama’ that— the entire reception had been torturous, you hated it—hated the man they chose not to acknowledge—hated the murderer.

All to your liking though, the car finally came to a stop, at your residence—your new home.

-

“You may sleep here,” soft a voice, too cold, however, compared to the gaze he held—it felt welcoming.

You nodded just as quietly, a good wife would never fight, they’d taught you—more important than ever for your life now depended upon so.

“Geto-Sama,” you hated the way it rolled off your tongue so smooth—meant to be, “where will you sleep?” Innocent enough a question and yet the scoff he passed under his breath was all well noticed by you.

“Not to worry you darling,” he smiled softly still, “I wouldn’t ever imagine sleeping with you,” and wrapped in his words lay the tone of condescension—hidden all so beautifully, a small round of hide-and-seek in itself.

Lips pursed, you stared at him—“Alright, drop the act, we’re alone,” the tone itself surprised you—the confidence all the more so, as you bore deep into his eyes, unwavering.

A brow cocked, he passed a smirk well of his own, “So the monkey is capable of thinking huh?”

“To call the bearer of your children a monkey, you should know your kids will be a part of me,” it was desperate really, bringing in the prospect of a future you never wanted for the sake of some respect.

A deep rumble emerged within his chest—chaos, “You think you’ll have such rights? What are you if not worth less than your father’s money?” Your face burnt at his words—hot, embarrassed, it was true.

“A reminder perhaps,” you spoke through clenched teeth—“you were the man who came begging to my father for-”

“-begging? Please,” he scoffed, “and I wanted protection not a whore to be passed around,” his words lay sharp, all so much so that the hilt of his words was enough to penetrate too mayhaps.

“Could have called yourself a celibate, Geto-Sama,” his sharp- yours blunt, impact lay the same with both—regret caused to the other.

“Are you so desperate that you are willing to fight to sleep with a strange man, all so alien to you?” There it lay, that constant lazy smile—the one he never shied to portray to his desperate followers—now, to you.

“A husband,” gritted teeth, you baree, “you are a husband now, accept the fate,” sharp inhale—sharper exhale, you simply despised him.

Annoyance hung loose in the air, an open wound to you both.

“The only fate,” he paused—ears ringing unto the sound of footsteps—his daughters’, “is the one where you’re no more but a mere shadow in my life, monkey,” disgust all so prevalent on a pretty face as his—pity, really.

“So be it,” you nodded, a lick of your lips and a deal on the tongue, “no more a legal wife am i to you,”

“Be glad you could achieve that at all,” and just as quickly the somber mood had shifted to annoyance, it was back too—as the door clasped open, the twins rushing in to meet their new found mother.

Mother—oh just how hilarious the fate’s jokes lay.

A mother—a wife—a woman for his needs.

-

A week.

A week spent in solitude, the white ceiling, a new friendship you’d found, the dark wood flooring your vice as you suffered.

Day in and day out—seconds ticked by, slowly churning out the hours and eyes that lay moist

forever remained so.

You despised it all.

His expanse and his family, his charm and his style, his maids and his followers — his daughters, ah.

Something, perhaps you didn’t hate, that belonged to Geto, did exist.

Innocent smiles, the kind you’d never worn—hefty laughter he provided them with, his pride and his joy—now yours too, mutual a partnership the marriage was.

“Y/n,” they’d murmured excitedly, Nanako had— Mimiko's shy glances and little smiles, just as endearing.

A mother you’d become, how complicated.

But fickle was your happiness, just there and often never at all.

Your heart raced, ears perked up at the voice of approaching footsteps—daughter of Suguru Geto’s best hitman, a little too many tricks lay up your sleeves themselves.

Quick, soft, padded—your servants.

Loud, racy and sudden? His daughters.

Soundless? Suguru.

Thoughts proven none but correct, Suguru did stand bearer of your observation—a frown as always on the beautiful face.

And you wondered just how prettier it could be, if only he were gagged and stuffed aside.

“Get up,” words shuffled fast—frenzied, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead.

“Why?” Defiance, slight defiance in the form of annoyance presented to him you displayed, little impact but just enough—especially when he would let out a ragged sigh, holding himself back.

“Don't question me, now is not the time.”

Your heart soared giddily at that too—“What? Your blind followers realized your reality huh?”

A sharp gaze, piercing, bore into you.

Dead, at a finger’s flick if he wanted—but then again, he didn’t, he couldn’t.

So he did the next best thing that he’d realized in a week’s worth of time- the little smirk was wiped off quick as he kneeled close to you, so close.

“Shut the fuck up,” a whisper, all too serious, curious, you looked up at him.

“Get up,”

“No.”

Your head turned to the right sharp, a swift slap he’d landed on your cheek—it didn’t hurt,

you’d faced worse after all—but oh how it hurt you.

Apathetic, he stared.

Blankly, you stared back.

A moment of silence, heavy.

“Are you dumb?”

Silence again—you wanted to rip his hair out—“Get up,”

“Why?”

His voice, almost panicked now, it was weird.

A clench of his jaw and a brush of fingers through the hair—“Monkeys like you aren’t safe here, let me take care of it.”

And somehow, it warmed your heart.

“I can fight-”

“-yes and I know you’re hunter as passed down your lineage but shut the fuck up right now,”

Dumbly, you looked—“what is it? Some…” your mouth ran dry, “some attack?”

An unamused chuckle he was quick to let go—“no,” he paused, face reigning back to all his seriousness—“wouldn’t want my pretty wife to suffer,” his words felt fake, maybe they were.

You swallowed hard—“where to?”

“My chambers,”

Your heart sunk and yet you felt a rush of serotonin.

~3 years ago~

“Y/n,” Nanako’s voice dragged, “c’mon we’ll be late!” The constant sound of typing annoyed you—squinting eyes stared at her from a distance.

“Remind me why such enthusiasm again?”

“Papa’s dealing with non-sorcerers today,”

Again-as he had been, always.

“Mama,” the word rang in your mind—Mimiko’s voice was soft in contrast — Mama, a certain ring to it, familiarized and yet so antagonized in your head.

You hummed in response simply—“Papa requests you to be there tonight…” her words trailed away, the convocation all too loud, the impact all so evident.

“Right…” you let your words hang open as well—he wanted you present, in day and light, flesh and sight—his wife to be shown off.

Every once a while, you were his lucky charm after all.

-

Crowded, nauseating, full of idiots.

A dagger rested at your side, gift from no other than your Geto-Sama, two years ago—a

wedding gift.

You hated the fact that it was the best you could’ve managed to find.

Slow, the proceedings were, lazy his smirks as the likes of you begged.

As the monkeys begged to him.

“Headaches, nauseating? Hmm,” he smiled, pensive, reflective—“sounds to me like you’re troubled,” and just so, it amused you—to how dumb humans truly were.

Fickle-minded.

“Geto-Sama,” eyes squinted at the tone of the woman, a whimper—a common whore—begging for his touch in broad sunlight, for your husband’s touch.

Sure, you hated him—but oh how you hated the fact that he touched so many other women whilst being married to you.

And somehow, you always became the other woman.

“Yes darling?” He called back coolly, your blood boiled.

“I think…think you need to…” her words trailed away, a satisfied murmur erupting through the crowd—they remembered, remembered it well.

Engraved in the memory of most what you’d only caught the gist if, even as a rumour.

Suguru had fucked her—in front of them all.

In the name of all that was holy, all that was religious—he’d sworn it would help her—it made her addicted. One drug to another, Suguru did nothing, he would do nothing today

either perhaps.

Was this why he called you?

To humiliate you such?

“Ah ah ah,” click on pf his tongue, sharp—“Not in front of your goddess, don’t flatter yourself,”

Your heart burned.

Goddess, their goddess—you were their goddess—his goddess.

Jaw clenched, you stared from the side, distaste evident upon you and her—adorable, he deemed it.

“She’s nothing-”

-silence, as quick as she’d begun, just as quickly she retreated.

Beyond livid he seemed, amazing actor surely, never one to hear words against his precious wife.

A chuckle interrupted his thoughts and yours—“Oh Geto,” the suitor—the one Suguru’d been trying to impress—the one you’d been called upon for—to hit the nail on mark. The one who would sign his deal.

A continuity of a deep rumble — relevance all so long as Geto would decide.

“You act like she matters at all,” your stomachs dropped, he was right, was he not?

“What is she? A hunter?” Another prolonged chuckle—electing those from beside you as well, your ears hurt from how hot they were.

“Just a trophy wife for you isn’t she?” Unwantedly, even in moments such—of your disrespect, your eyes gazed onto him.

You hated the helplessness but…he was yours, right?

Something about the thin smile reassured you, it wasn’t much—not an ounce of anger reflected upon his face, if he felt any, that is.

You could feel the eyes of all, not the first time you’d been presented to the assembly, the first time the ruse you played was out.

“She’s my wife,” his voice was calm, “trophy or no is none of your business—she’s priced if anything—far more than you could ever afford, so think with that thick head of yours, at least once if you can manage before you dare to look at her.”

Definite—his words were fast, surprising all the more.

The laughter halted, silence was all so deafening, “You’re defending that slut before me Geto?” Shaky, the man’s voice was held—your grip tightened on your dagger.

Suguru’s smile only ever grew right beside you, “Do you want the honors darling?” You froze on spot.

Face whipped to face him, he could see the way your face shone—“Talk to me you fucker! That bloody bitch and your cult can’t do shit without me” His words rang through the hall as he did so—your feet worked upon its own.

“Just give me those whores beside you then,” he grinned further, directing his gaze onto Nanako and Mimiko.

A nodding smile from your husband being all that you need—swift you came, swift the man fell, mere seconds.

Bloods oozed, some rested upon your cheek just as much, three stab wounds—a drowning business deal of Geto—a sailing heart of yours and his smile.

The body twitched in dismay, adrenaline coursed through you—three years since you’d last killed something living, you couldn’t the feeling.

“Dismissed,” Suguru spoke aloud, basking in the shock of his followers and alike—however, yours too.

A hunter you were, sure, but not humans.

Never humans.

A sinner—his sinner.

Your body shook, the dagger fell quick, the moment the Hall was empty, just you and Suguru inside.

“What did you have them prepare for lunch today?” Domestic as if, normal, if he’d name it—acting as if a murderer did not just happen—the man’s body was still warm.

You offered none but a soft silence—“y/n?”

You hated him.

You hated everything.

You hated how he pretended to be confused by your moral dilemma.

“Can you stop?” A hiss of a voice—“you just- I- stop!”

Small an outburst, tears trickled the verge of falling apart.

“It’s fine,” he mused, “you can let go,”

“shut up,” you whispered fast- “don’t talk to me like that- like- like you’re superior. You just made me- fuck- I-”

A step all too close he took, “come here,” softly he spoke—uncharacteristic, why now?

After three years of an empty marriage—had he found your use? A hunter for him?

Not the first time you’d cried in front of him, many a confrontations had come and gone—many a times you’d thrown empty jars at him—many times he’d threatened you, all in vain.

So why now?

Empathetic all over a night? Couldn’t be.

Your heart paced, mind hurdled- hands held onto his form tightly as he did yours, body convulsing in his embrace, your kill lay astray, forgotten.

“You’re fine,” he murmured against your head—all so close, first time. And a thought you couldn’t help but withdraw—is this how those women felt? When he held them so close to where you’d never been?

“You did as you should’ve, a great wife you are,”

Sheer shambles your heart lay in—you wanted to hate him, perhaps you did—most probably, not.

“Why?” You whispered, pressed deep into his chest—an almost soothing hand upon your back rubbed, all so confused—both him and you.

“Figured you’d like it,” he smiled, “you’re not a pawn y/n,” a fumbling kiss pressed on your forehead, the spot was now sacred.

“You’re the queen on the board and it was wrong simply to let go the potential,”

“Why all this? Why now?”

An urge to pull away, an urge to ingrain yourself in him.

An empty marriage—all too loud your desires.

“You’re their goddess aren’t you?” He didn’t sound sweet anymore, it was all real—you knew so.

-

Two weeks since your outburst, two weeks since he’d held you for the first time—two weeks, you’d suffered all so much.

Mentally, emotionally—physically.

It was absurd, you’d spent three years still, yearning just some touch—but now more so than ever, you would perhaps beg for him.

A shared bed you lay in, the heat in your heart was

scorching—nothing close however to the desire between your legs.

You craved him.

“You’ll accompany me tomorrow?” fingers clasped right around the book he was reading, he didn’t do so much as glance at you—yet, it was somehow endearing.

Gradual was the display from being ordered by his servants to show up when he pleases you to, to his daughters requesting you—to him, personally recommending it, it was sweet.

You knew you were grasping on broken ends—but just something to the fallen was miraculous enough.

You poised to think, “WAR AND PEACE”- Leo Tolstoy, hefty the handler, heftier its state, creased in the middle—whitening, pages browned years ago and a certain scent you couldn’t place.

Golden were the words still, it shone.

A simple “well?” From him broke your trance, a nod you passed.

Second time in the past fortnight, perplexed you say by, watching moments tick by, unsure.

“Should I carry the dagger?” Same question as you’d asked last week—same reply awaited you, the same cunning smile, “Just your presence is enough,”

-

“23, 594 of you,” Suguru spoke in the same sweet tone of his—a mistake his words held.

A tilt to the right, to correct him or no—you sucked in any air, perhaps your last.

“Not a simple feat it-”

“-25, 394,” your voice was low, had the crowd been that of a murmuring one, it would have gone unheard—not from him perhaps, but in general.

Not a glance spared, just a single smirk, “Ah, of course.” A lick of his lips and a look downturned, “I apologise—how sweet of my wife to remind me,”

My wife.

Amusing how you still shivered at the thought of it.

The rest of his words were a blur, his tone was hollow right after the apology—the same as you’d heard when he was upset—mad.

When he’d condemned your family.

-

“Leave,” the words seemed final, a tear rolled down your eyes.

“Geto-Sama,” your father panted, pathetic—simply so, no deniance to it.

“Please,” three days you’d been beggin, three days that Geto Suguru had stripped you all of any and every sense of dignity, of some thought of self preservation.

A scoff you heard, heart shattering—as eyes gazed onto the sight of your crawling father- a hitched breath, Suguru’s eyes lay stuck on you.

“The debt,” Suguru mused quietly, “you want it forgiven?”

Your father nodded at his feet—broken sobs your mother flushed, sister’s nimble fingers upon yours—you hated Geto Suguru.

Perhaps that was exactly why you found yourself such.

Hating his woes, his breaths and his ideology—perhaps all lay a lie.

Perhaps you hated him for the humiliation he granted that day, 6 years ago.

“You’re nothing but a monkey, you know that,” Suguru mused simply, “But you are one of my best,” a hun he passed to second himself.

Eyes, obsidian as they bore into yours—“What’s your name?”

Quick, you almost didn’t catch his words, “y/n,” your father weakly muttered before letting out a pained cry—result of none but a kick from Suguru.

“I was talking to her,” a lazy smirk he adorned, “hunter?” He inquired, a nod you passed.

“Skilled?” And that you were, having served so many over the years—skilled you simply were.

“You can have her,” your father’s words lay rushed—heart seizing up deep. He couldn’t- wouldn’t- your mother wouldn’t.

“Virgin?”

“We can offer a fine dowry lord,” pants, his—gasps, yours—“Uoull be doing us a favour, in fact two.”

The man’s face flits curiously between the two of you. You wonder if he can see the embarrassed tears threatening the corners of your eyes, the set of your lips, the way your fingers are clenching and shaking.

Your heart raced, face flushed—your parents eyes’, your sister’s, all trained upon you.

What a pity—a shake of your head, Suguru’s smirk widened as he knelt onto your level.

“Whoever would marry a used whore hm?” It was the exact smooth voice that you hated—the exact low grumble you feared.

“Fuck off,” the words were quick to slip out—perhaps, not appropriate but you regretted not a single moment.

Not your mother’s gasps or your father’s tremble or Suguru and his furrowed brows.

“You’re talking to a god,” he whispered—“I don’t worship a fraud.” Your reply was defiant—the situation was bared.

A made up god among men and a woman who would never worship him—and hence came about the dilemma when the god simply found his religion in the woman.

“Interesting,” he’d hummed then, the same smile that he wore then in the assembly, three years after your marriage.

A padded thumb reached into your cheek—wiping your tears away roughly—“I think you’ll be just as useful as your father,” he grinned, and something told you he’d use you in ways more than just a hunter.

“You’ll be a better pet right?”

Before you could gasp, before you could cry—before any sense of grief had caught you, fate had tied its strings with a man you deemed a monster—and the monster to his angel.

-

The assembly took a good while to finish, 2 hours you sat, anticipating everything.

Something told you Suguru wouldn’t go tough on you—usually, he’d have someone humiliated to no extent but…you were his better half—not you, right?

“Dismissed,” he muttered as always, you couldn’t help the squirming anymore.

The last two hours you’d suffered, the wetness in you edging onto itself at the worst time possible—everytime he’d make eye contact, every time he’d glare.

“Not you,” your heart dropped, you stood as a deer in headlight then — just about to step out of the room as everyone else had.

“Come here,”

You swallowed hard—“I- I am sorry my lord I didn’t-”

“I didn’t ask you to talk monkey,” a slight pang to the heart—two weeks of overthinking was all down the drain, it didn’t mean anything perhaps.

Slowly, you trudged over, near to his feet—as close as he’d let you for the last time.

Cold eyes met you, blank a face and hair brushed open—“kneel,” he simply commanded, most days you’d have fought back- earned yourself a reprimand but not that day.

What you had was enough already.

From your position, you stared up at him—lips parted as small breaths you let out.

A moment of silence while you watched him take off the yakuta, slender a form inside—the one you’d watched simply all too many times.

“You think you’re smart hm?” Your body shook, blame put on the coldness, you let yourself shiver—passing him a shake of the head.

“Geto-Sama I-”

“-is it that difficult an instruction?” Sharp a voice, it pierced through you, “don’t talk unless I fucking tell you to.”

A frenzied nod, any deniance to be passed onto him leaving your body as you gazed upon him, ethereal—and maybe, just maybe, the fraud of a god you hated was not all so bad a money to adore.

“Thought you looked cute correcting me hm?” Ever so serene a voice, one couldn’t almost differentiate whether he truly was upset or not.

Another shake of your head, another tug at his lips.

“No?” Squinted eyes stared at you, “then attention? You wanted attention?” Your ears felt hot pink, maybe you did.

“I wouldn’t be shocked honestly,” he paused, squatting down to your level, “your father did offer me a whore,” bottom lip clasped between your teeth, you dared not to look up at him—afraid simply of the hot tears spilling.

“What is it, hm?” A large hand raised to flick the hair of your forehead—“Jealous, are we?”

Clenched jaw, you stared at the ground—audacious he was to even question it—“but that shouldn’t be it right? A legal marriage is what you promised eh?”

Too smug his voice lay, you hated him.

His hand rested at your cheek, hot to the touch—searing cold to the testament—“what was it then? An attention seeker? Or a whore?”

A ragged breath you let out—“You think it’s hilarious?” Your eyes stared down into his, “to make a fool out of me?”

The hurt in your voice was no less than prevalent, it echoed still.

“You fuck women left and right like it’s nobody’s business-”

“-oh it is about that hm?” A short chuckle he passed, euphoric to the ear, “you are a jealous bitch after all,”

“Cut it out Suguru,”

His brows raised too, and internally—yours, at the courage of calling him such, “You don’t respect me but at least respect the wedding,”

“With a monkey?” It angered you as to how deep just a couple of his words could cut—‘a monkey’ you’d never be his equal.

“Yes, with a monkey—with your wife—with the woman your daughters seek a mother in,” quick you spoke—desperate to get it all out—“The woman you’ve turned into a murderer,”

Another short laugh.

“And now it’s about that is it?”

Your blood boiled—to see him treating it all so insignificantly, “you made me-”

“-made you kill him? You killed a monkey darling, an animal of incoherent thinking. You should be glad. If anything I did you favors by granting you the opportunity to regain your skills, which are impeccable if I may,”

A tug here, a tug there— your heart was torn at his words.

“Further, you liked it—you like everything I do,”

A desperate no spilled of your lips—meaningless.

Maybe you did like it—maybe you did like the way he took you away from that monster of a father, maybe you did like the way he isolated you, gave you all to hone your skills and what not, maybe you did like the little shows of affection because you were starved.

Maybe you were simply naive.

A series of clicking sounds of his tongue entered your ears—“you create ruckus over such things hm darling?” He got up again, “calls for a punishment doesn’t it?”

A final plea you passed—broken.

“Suguru please,” shaky, “I just- you can’t fuck women like that, the servants spread rumours and- and- its all so-”

“Strip and get on all fours,” lower an octave, his voice was serious, you bit your lips and complied.

No other choice-dead at his feet otherwise, with a fate worse.

Slow, your fingers moved to take off all that was left of your decency—never the first time that you’d stripped for a man, but the first time you felt the lingering gaze.

All down to the matching set of lingerie that he’d gifted you—every once in a while as he did, a sought compensation for his actions mayhaps.

“Faster unless you wish to lengthen your punishment?” A quick shake of your head, your face felt hot, fingers twisted into the waistband of your panties —silk and lacy, almost As if innocent—as you slowly pulled them your lower half, feet tugging them off.

Bra forced away the same, shame enveloped you—not strong enough for all of you stood exposed, a cry of mercy to the god all in vain—for all too apparent, your supposed god was a fraud.

A step taken slow towards Suguru, you were interrupted with a cough—“You’re a what y/n?”

Mind blank, you stared dumbly—and exasperated sigh he let out until you finally responded, “A monkey,”

A nod of encouragement, he smirked, “and monkeys don’t walk right?”

Heights of your shame were peaking with every second passed, no other option to substitute, you nodded back—down on all fours as you crawled over to him.

The carpet was coarse underneath your knees, it hurt—not more so than your mind.

“Already so pliant sweetheart,” too giddy a voice, you wanted to punch him—but perhaps this was far better than what that would entail.

You reached over to him shortly, “only had you been all so quiet from the very beginning…but oh how does it matter now,” a grin sounded to your ears—you wanted to cry.

“All so naked,” he was walking about you now—all so exposed you stood, “so vulnerable—is this what you wanted?”

Your ears burned.

“Jealous of the women I fuck in front of my followers right? Would you want to be fucked the same? I could summon them now—” another short chuckle, “their god with their goddess.”

You swallowed hard, lips licked as you awaited—unsure of what he could do.

“Tell me, does the thought make you wet?”

“No,” lies—you knew it, and you hated yourself at that.

A hum sincere, was all he passed—“alright then. Since you do love running your mouth all so much, your tongue and hands—”

Your ears ringed as the sight of the man you’d killed flashed in front of you—“25 strokes.”

Eyes wide you stared at the ground.

A silence awaited his words and he sighed loudly.

“Say yes or does my whore want more?”

Another silence—soon he was right ahead of you—a sharp slap soon adding to the sting on your face.

Tears took no time, resting at the verge—you stared up at him, broken a voice meeting him.

“I'm sorry,” you muttered softly—trembling at the look of it—not even sure what the apology was for.

“Please please please don’t I can’t-” and somewhere along your blurred sight, his eyes softened all too little—“15.” He decided silently.

You nodded, knowing the bargain had gone deep— lowering your head, unsure of the entirety.

“Spread your legs,” he murmured, you winced slightly as you did so—the texture of the carpet felt rough—your predicament all the more.

“Count and thank me after each,” and all before you could agree— smack! The first smack struck hard.

Your eyes widened and a sharp inhale—“One—thank you Geto-Sama,” he nodded in confinement, satisfied Mayhaps, to your words.

His hand rested along the round of your ass—squeezing it, feeling it around—another smack alternated on the other cheek—“Two! Thank you Geto-Sama,”

Another squeeze—another exhale, you could feel your wetness spread.

The third strike was on the same spot as before—a pink tint added already to your ass, he adored the way you felt in his hand—“Three— thank you Geto-sa-! Ah!” You bit hard onto your lip as in the midst of your count he landed another strike at the same spot and another.

“F-four and five! Thank you Geto-Sama,” a ‘good girl’ he murmured right after, and even such—humiliated to all accords, his praise did none but cause you to feel butterflies right there.

And just there you also hated how his slaps could provide you the pleasure you hadn’t been able to.

The same cycle went on, remaining 9 spanks hit hard as before— a grab and squeeze offered in the midst of each.

“So fucking pretty,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss one of your reddened cheeks—warm to his lips as his other hand smacked onto the other cheek.

“Spread your legs further,” and you did, afraid to upset him anymore.

And all to your surprise, suddenly you felt a finger probe your pussy lips—beyond ashamed you could help the weak whimper and desperate cry from escaping.

“Tch tch tch,” another sharp smack on your ass, “So wet? From a spanking?”

Another whimper as your head only ever lowered in response—“or was it thought of getting off in public huh?” You could feel his tough hands tease you, he wouldn’t enter, no—just tease your slit for the hell of it.

“So pathetically turned on f’me,” he groaned—face up right against your gaping hole, inhaling sharply and taking in your scent.

“N-no,” you protested, halted only by another mean slap on your ass—“Don’t lie to the man you worship,” another nod, he’d already broken you.

The pretend disappointment was sheerly evident in his voice—his expressions, “Well I cannot really move further until you’re punished thoroughly darling,” his words sounded almost calming, even when you knew they were all so not.

The tip of his fingers were slow, slowly gliding across your glistening pussy—your inner thigh—squelch!

Eyes wide, a gasp erupted from your mouth as his large palm landed flat against your folds.

“I don’t think it’s your fault however, it’s her issue isn’t it?” Words so sweet, you only ever could think of succumbing to him—finally passing a weak nod.

“Ah ha,” he smiled to himself—impressed perhaps—“That’s a smart girl, now how many do you think are appropriate for her hm?” As he spoke, his fingers wouldn’t be called shy in the way they inspected you—gathering your slick from your hole, never entering enough to please, and leading it up to your asshole—dirty.

A sense of dread coursed through you, involuntarily you tried turn around to beg him not to—another sharp slap, a sob from you.

“5?” Your voice was soft—and somehow, even in his moments of pure power Suguru couldn’t help but want to be kind to you.

And this time, he hated it.

“5 it is,” he murmured, pressing his fingers upright to your pussy lips—“Count, no need to thank this time,”

Slowly his hands already your thighs further apart—shame no more a blanket, you could only moan at the shy touches to your core.

His hands stroked your inner thighs slowly—easing you out, you knew the trick of course, as a hunter must and even then a sharp inhale and “sh-it,” you spoke as his hand Landed on your pussy.

“One,” you called out meekly, and unlike the slaps he used to redden your ass, these weren’t all so pleasurable.

Without a word he landed another—your body lurched forward just the slightest—“Two!” Your voice trembled at his touch, especially in the way he dragged his fingers all so close to your clit and then landed the third spank.

“You’re taking it so good sweetheart,” a mess, a sincere mess is all you were—breaking apart at his touch and words- all so unsure of how you felt.

The last two Spanks were a blur, broken sobs eliciting your throat at them too as finally Suguru caressed your hips— held it soft, smothered it with slight kisses—as if he cared.

“Think you deserve a reward now, monkey?” A whine escaped you at the reference to the animal he deemed everyone else as—and yet another “Yes please,”

You knew better than to hope he’d have pleased you but all how it went, you could help the slight disappointment in you when he sat across you—spreading his legs.

An amused chuckle he let out at your expressions—“You really didn’t think I’d touch a used up pussy as yours eh?”

He would—oh how he desperately wanted to—your eyes remained down cast.

“C’mere be a good slut and get me off,” hesitant was the way you crawled over to him nestling yourself between his legs—hesitant, yes but eager all the more.

And just the same his other followers felt engulfed by the need to please him.

Fingers fumbled with his belt for a second before a raised brow from him stopped you—“did I tell you to take it off?”

Your breath hitched- confused you gazed up to meet an annoyed expression, “Do only as much as you’re told to, don’t true that pretty mind of yours.”

All the encouragement you needed as you slowly raised your face up to his crotch—“Go on,” he murmured, placing his hand at the back of your head—and just so you found your face pressed hard against his crotch, taking in the musky smell— your eyes watered with the pressure he held you with, your pussy grew wetter with the avoidance he lay.

Soft whines you let out against the thin fabric of his underpants as your fingers gripped onto his toned thighs.

You could feel the thick outline of his dick—not that you lay experienced much but that would certainly be big as it went.

His hand stroked your hair softly and pulled you away too—“pull them down,” he ordered and fervently your fingers pulled the waist of the only fabric covering him down—his hardened dick spring out at once.

You fought all urges to touch it at once—looking right into his eyes, awaiting any command.

“Good girl,” he groaned as he shifted his hips to angle himself better—“Tongue out,” he muttered softly, staring at your face.

Adorable to him.

On your knees you say, tongue out and mouth wide as you watched him drag the tip of his cock and slap it against your cheeks twice—demeaning you usually would’ve found it—now you craved it dearly.

Three slaps he lay on your tongue from his tip still—plap! Plap! Plap!— salty it tasted, his Precum.

“Take it all in,” none to your surprise, you were quick to try your best—you know you couldn’t, but to try was the way to go.

“Don’t suck just yet,” he commanded, as his dick lay inside the warmth of your mouth—you wanted to gag immediately, pull away.

“Keep it there,” he whispered, the large hand gayab at the back of your throat, keeping you from pulling away.

Tears were quick to rush down your cheeks as you struggled to gag—the slight pull and an annoyed glare from him.

All too quick he pulled out of your mouth.

“Don’t fucking pull away,” a warning, “cry all you want—fucking throw up from gagging I don’t care, but don’t pull away,” you nodded through your tears as you took a second to catch your breath.

“Again,” he said and again, you began.

It was tough to breathe, yes, and hard not to pull away but a look at his blissful face and you couldn’t help it—“start sucking, slow,”

And that you did, tears dried as more came a afresh, you sucked slowly onto his tip and length—weak whimpers seemed guttural as you rocked your face back and forth onto his length.

“You know why- ha- ah,” he paused, moaning, as you teased him slight, “I let you do this?”

His eyes scanned your pretty face, sucking him all so good—trying your best to please him.

“So you remember that mine is the hand that feeds you,” just then his hands balled up your hair into a fist, rough, he pulled you.

“So you- shit! Suckin’ me like the slut you are huh?” Broken gasps he let out as well as he pushed his length down your throat.

As much as you hated him having the reigns, to see him lose composure was a beautiful process.

“That feels so fucking good — ahah — I'm not pleased with you fuck j-just can't believe how good it feels to — fuck — ahhhuh — yeah that's a perfect little slut, just take your master’s cock like you're meant to."

You couldn’t see from down there, his eyes rolling back but you knew it was tough for him to sit still—god how you loved it.

“Listen darling,” he began yet again—his fist was quick to pull your face away from his cock, all to yours and his displeasure.

He held you by the hair—a string of spit connecting your lips to his dick hung loosely.

“Always fucking remember that you’re the one begging to be fed by me—not the other fucking way around,” you wanted to nod but all that let out was small whines.

“Geto-Sama, please,” you cried, “pleasepleaseplease let me- fuck- let me help. Want you to- to mark me? Please will you?”

Suguru fought hard to suppress the moan he wanted to out—he hated that he loved seeing you this way—he hated how he wanted to see you such everyday.

He hated how for the past three years he’d wanted this but how he loved you.

Oh how he loved his silly.

And just as that his length was shoved deep into your mouth again—and internal conflict in his mind as he face fucked you senseless—he just wanted you carnally and you, him.

Not long did it take before you knew he was close.

“Stay right there, fuck — oh my god I'm close. I'm so fucking close. Gonna fill up that mouth, stuff it so good not a drop spills out.”

And at that, without another word he came inside—a warm gush in your mouth as you struggled to keep it all in—to please him—hot and sticky as he slowly pulled out of your mouth.

“So pretty,” he murmured as his fingers tapped your cheek—hinting at you to swallow it all.

-

Suguru watched as your tired body panted and lay still on his form—head resting against his thigh.

A soft hand brushed through your hair, a gentle smile as he wrapped the Yakuta around your naked body.

In hindsight, maybe he would regret it—but in the present of this entirely, he loved it.

He loved you.

Two weeks, suguru’s heart had churned—perhaps more than yours—to have you lay against him for the past three years was no issue, not until he knew your heart was opening up to him.

And something in him fought him to have him now that that, was a bad idea.

He realized now that, that something was all too stupid a thought—especially when he could now carry your body softly, pressed up against his chest as he Carried you to the shared chambers, his chambers.

Oh how he loved you being his.

A monkey—his mind called out, the woman I love, his heart snapped back.

It was confusing, to him and you and everyone around—that he was all so enamored by you—nothing more of a simple hunter you were, skilled yes, but it wouldn’t add up.

But then he’d look at the serene expression on your face as he slept and everything senseless would fall back—as he fell in love a little more when your fingers clasped onto his when he was pulling away.

~now~

Day and night.

Slowly they passed.

The first year, then the second and then third—all the way to five years and there you sat, right beside him, regal.

Don’t get me wrong, you perhaps still hate him and he despises you too—but it is in the certain way, that every third night you’re clamping down on his form and he holds you softly right after—“I love you” muttered by neither.

-

He wasn’t sure on to why it was the way it was.

He hated monkeys, you were one—so equally, he must also hate you—and yet, his heart ached the day your father thrust your hand into his.

He’d seen you before that day still, running about, aloof—you enjoyed your craft—he’d enjoyed seeing you do so. Marriage to him was simply a barrier to your skills—he knew that, and yet not being married to him was a barrier to mayhaps a comfortable life.

Never before Had Suguru pitied monkeys such—and yet, to the see the tears roll down your eyes, he felt captivated.

In the way the silence of his halls was dimmed when his daughters would call for you—in the way you unnecessarily commanded his house—as if you held that power.

But then, mostly you did.

In the way you held pillows all too close to yourself to feel some warmth—in the way you used the pillows as a means of a boundary between the two.

In the way you forced yourself to hate him, in the way you whimpered against his touch.

Everything.

And anything.

All he knew deep down was he wanted you happy, with him and often, without him.

-

“Do you know this man?” The words rolled off his tongue smooth, you stared intently at the man bowing at your feet.

“No,” words were often simple lies when you stood beside him in that assembly, the man, once referred to as your father, inhaled sharp at your words.

Suguru’s smirk only widened—your mother and sister long gone perhaps, you didn’t know, you didn’t care.

Suguru never let you care.

“He’s committed a crime,” Suguru motioned to the crowd awaiting—“A dire crime,” his eyes now trained upon you—“And as always, our goddess here will help us ride of it, yes?”

Not the first time you’d been asked—two years, the first murder you’d committed and since then, that’s how Suguru used you.

The best hunter he had, his prized one.

His hand wound around you softly, a creep to your abdomen—“wanna play a game?”

The blood inside you rushed—it didn’t matter.

None of it.

You’d killed plenty monkeys, Suguru adored you simply as you did and you did too—but today was different.

Today, stood in front of you, a true criminal.

Blood of monkeys never bothered you—you were their deity, Suguru had reminded you every time you cried—they were honored to die at your hands.

The wood that surrounded you was thick—beautiful really, especially for a game of hide-and-seek.

A shove he passed to your father, rough—“Run,” he ordered, dark eyes softening as they landed upon you.

“Kill him in 2 hours and I’ll let take over tonight,” a smile sketched onto your lips—“and if not…” a similar smile etched onto

his.

-

Legs sprawled beside his head—your fingers clutched hard onto the sheet beneath.

“Suguru,” your voice drew out—a whine, “Please…” you cried out softly as his tongue lapped onto your clit.

“Please what darling?” A sharp slap landed on your inner thigh—another whine.

“I was just 7 minutes late,” your dirtied clothes lay away forgotten—the neat white towels he’d used to wipe the blood off of you—used to cleanse and purify you again lay just beside his head as you tugged on hair harshly.

A soft giggle he let out—“7 minutes too late baby- you knew the punishment right? Let me edge you thrice more now, be a good pet.”

And another giggle he passed, eliciting a sharp cry of his name when he pressed his tongue flat on your clit.

And Suguru loved this, so Did you.

Your god and his goddess.

All of this work is entirely original and my own—please refrain from copying or reposting.

Likes and Reblogs highly appreciated!

Tags: @illogicallyx @myrand0mfand0mbl0g @rizzmin @lavendervogh @kazoomas @gojoismybitch @mistyheart @spaceisfarfarawayy @4sat0ruu @isentsworld @gl0ri0us-l0ve @playboicartina @hiomi-hiomi @misaki-the-lotusflower @abitoldschool @immurrsed @bbytamaki @hqkalon (no because thanks for the amazing words frfr)

[lukecastellanshandholder]

You do understand that Luke groomed and used teenagers, also asked a teenager if she loved from when she was sixteen and he was 23…

(I only dislike Luke, I don’t completely hate him, but reading your account description made me wonder…)

*sigh* ok, I’m going to try my very best to be nice and explain Luke’s character. (I only say this because I’ve made countless posts about these things already, but you seem new so I’ll explain)

First of all, Luke himself was groomed by Kronos for about 2 whole years before the events of The Lightning Thief took place. Kronos started coming to Luke in his dreams shortly after his quest to retrieve a golden apple from the Garden of Hesperides. Kronos came to Luke with his offer to help him dethrone the gods when he was upset and thinking irrationally because of his (very justified) anger towards Hermes. After this, Kronos continued to haunt Luke’s dreams, making him think that they both had the same goals.

Luke had always wanted a better life for demigods and for their godly parents to treat them better, he never wanted to hurt other demigods (as is plainly said in The Diary of Luke). While Kronos just wanted to gain power over Olympus again and to reshape the world. However, Kronos convinced Luke that he didn’t want to bring harm to demigods and that he could help Luke achieve his goal.

When Luke started to realize that Kronos just wanted power and that he no longer wanted to help Kronos, Kronos tortured him with nightmares. He was verbally and mentally abusive, driving Luke to near insanity until he broke and became Kronos’ perfect little soldier.

“But Luke groomed and used teenagers!” First of all, what do you think that the gods and Chiron do to all of the children at camp Half blood? They use those poor kids to run their errands and fight their wars under the guise of offering protection from monsters in the mortal world. And Camp half blood had been around long before the Titan Army was established.

Secondly, do you think that the gods are such good parents to their children that they didn’t have other kids who would willingly want to dethrone them? Because we have at least 2 examples of demigods who wanted to dethrone the gods for their own reasons. Ethan Nakamura and Alabaster Torrington. Ethan could’ve cared less about putting Kronos in power, he just wanted minor gods and their children to be treated better. Then Alabaster couldn’t have cared less about Luke but did want to see Kronos in power only because he would treat his mother, Hecate, better than Zeus did. So to say that Luke groomed every demigod who joined is completely ignoring the fact that the gods were terrible parents who have wronged so many of their children.

And third, Kronos was the one who wanted that army to fight against the army that Camp Half Blood had been building for years. Kronos was the one with all of the control, because once a demigod joined they were put under a haze. They were under Kronos’s influence and didn’t come out of it until Luke killed Kronos. So to blame Luke for the use of those demigods is also completely ignoring who had the true power in the situation. The gods and the Titans started this feud hundreds of years ago, Luke, Percy and the other demigods were just dragged into it.

Now about the whole Annabeth thing. I’m 100% sure that when Luke asked her if she had loved him, it was meant as in platonic/ familial love. As we see in The Diary of Luke (the only story that we ever see from Luke’s POV) we always see him thinking of Annabeth as nothing but a little sister or even a daughter. The only person that we ever see him show romantic feelings towards is Thalia when they were on the run together before going to camp. Well, except for Kelli, but I feel like that’s a special kind of situation.

“But Percy said-.” Percy is the most unreliable narrator out there, and he was a jealous teenage boy. Of course when Percy has a huge crush on Annabeth and he hears Luke ask Annabeth if she loved him, that Percy is going to think he meant it in a romantic way! He doesn’t have all of the information about practically anything going on! Now I’m not saying anything against Percy, but again he didn’t have all of the information and was just going off of what he thought he knew.

“But Annabeth said in the Heroes of Olympus series that-!” In this situation, Annabeth is also an unreliable narrator. Think about it, if you have or had a crush on someone and they asked you if you ever liked or loved them, aren’t you going to automatically assume that they mean it in the same way as you do? Aren’t you going to assume that they meant in a romantic way and think that they also had a crush on you? And again, I’m not saying anything bad against Annabeth but, the only time we get to hear from Luke’s POV about Annabeth he’s always referring to her as his little sister. So, are we going to believe what Luke says in his own point of view? Or are we going to believe what two people without all of the information think Luke meant?

So yeah, if you were wondering if I like Luke, the answer is yes! He’s one of my absolute favorite characters because his story is so interesting and intriguing to me.

No, I don’t blame Luke for what the gods and Kronos caused. I don’t think that he’s some evil monster like most of the fandom seems to think he is for some reason. Luke is a victim of the gods and Kronos. He was used just like every other demigod and in the end, died a hero.

I hold the actual villains of the story (Kronos and the gods) accountable for their actions instead of just blaming everything on one of their victims.

[rjthirsty]

Major IkePri Spoilers!!

.CW: fictional child abuse and reference to SA

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I wish I could draw just so I can share how utterly ridiculous I see the previous king. (By the way, my phone auto'd "penis" for previous, and I thought that was suitting).

Here you have this dude who was supposedly so awesome that Corline (sp? Jin's mother) not only thought he was the best candidate for king but fell so in love with him that she still loved him even after she was exiled by nobility. But there is nothing at all to like about him. Not a single person has something nice to say except Sariel.

So I just see the king standing next to this murderous orphan that he sort of kidnapped, brought to the palace, groomed, decided killing was not a job he should be doing and instead told him to take care of his 7 other kids he never spoke to while he's out there kidnapping women and raping others...

So, they're standing there, yeah?

And behind him is all the fucked up things his real kids he abandoned had to live through, like good twin (not going into all that abuse), or having your mother throwing things at you calling you a monster, or literally being forced to replace her dying son or be killed, or being the child of rape, or being the child of rape, or nearly dying from poverty, or nearly dying from poverty. Yes, I said each of those twice because it applies twice.

And the king looks at this black haired kid and says, "Am I a good person?" And young Sariel, who thinks having something to eat each day is just the best thing ever! Not realizing he is now fulfilling the role of a father to 7 boys only slightly younger than him, his eyes glittery and wide with wonder at how kind this shit stain can be eagerly agrees.

Anyways, I just finished the current event stories and always hate how Sariel idolizes the former king. And this time, they got Jin in on it with him wondering if he was nicer to his asshole father if he would not have ended up so terrible. THAT FUCKING GUILT, YO.

Jin, dude, the man was already a rapist and worse by then. You should know that at your 32 years of age, child you did no wrong by avoiding him.

[weclassybouquetfun]

Tonight is the penultimate episode of series two of AMC+'s INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE.

Well, this isn't ominous at all.

Impressed that months later content from the S2 premiere is still being rolled out.

ALL THE SPOILERS FOR Episode 14 / S2E07

It's fine. It's all fine.

If you've read the books (not me) or have seen the movie (me) or just possess the ability to read between the lines, then you knew this day was coming: The death of Claudia de Pointe du Lac de Lioncourt and her companion Madeleine.

Finally, someone chose Claudia.

They actually made a playbill. The nastiest of nasty work.

There is still a lot to be open to interpretation in regards to motivations and the truthiness of various accounts. Maybe we will get answers in the next episode (how much of a willing participant was Lestat in these deliberations? How accurate was Louis' new recollection of begging Lestat to turn Claudia despite Lestat's warnings?) and maybe we won't (at any time have we seen the real Lestat?)

What I do know is that this cast acts their collective bums off.

What I also know?

They will never make me hate you, maître. You've done nothing wrong, ever.

Even though you leveled your coven with one word, I am sure you could not stop them from putting your lover, his sister-daughter and her companion on trial and subsequent execution.

He was helpless to do anything, you just don't understand!!

Armand was able to control everyone's speech and compel them to say "banishment" and just heaves a sigh of relief for the trouble. Meanwhile, Lestat was wan and bleeding from one ear after mind controlling a room of soldiers.

I still stand by you, Armand. I'm just saying...

-I am inclined to believe Lestat's deviations. You can tell what are Sam's words and what aren't by how Santiago responds and also just how true to form they seem from a character standpoint. I could be very wrong, but I can believe Louis threatened to cut Lestat's head off.

This is Louis who threatened his brother with a knife (which turned Lestat's eye to him in the first place). This is a man who lobbed a veiled threat at Grace during their mother's funeral (and you know it's true because that was from Claudia's diary). Louis was furious in that moment so why would he be expected to hold his tongue and not scrap? As he told Lestat, "You start it, you finish it."

Louis castigated Lestat for choking their daughter. I'm not going to remind him what he did to her when she begged him to let her burn Lestat.

So many people last season were raging because their "Brat Prince" was depicted as a domestic abuser and were sure this season would absolve him. But while we get a fuller picture of the fight, Lestat still did what he did. To me it just adds more clarity on why he stayed away for so long.

The biggest question for me this episode was how long did they workshop Lestat's side? Did the coven plunder his mind or did Lestat readily give them information (they knew about the words "come to me", the killing of the priests, the church kiss, Louis' depression and the house being a shambles. We even see on the projection the raccoon that was roaming their house)?

No matter how they found out the Louis/Lestat details, Lestat is not fully a willing participant in my mind. This man was over it from the jump.

Also, he's stubbled and one thing Lestat de Lioncourt is going to do is be well groomed so those theatre nerds have had him locked away until showtime.

They summoned Lestat while he was drinking his chickory coffee and eating beignets. Classless.

Dreamstat in Dubai feels so wrong.

Spoiler filled interview with Delainey, Roxanne and Jacob after episode 14/7.

Interview with Sam.

[thoroq]

no because anakin was never dealt with a winning anything, my dude spent years as a slave’s kid working in the junk shop building droids as a form of fun.

i always enjoy the whole “Anakin just expected Obi-wan and Padmé to trust and listen to him?? Asshole” discourse because like… yeah??

not trying to self insert here but as a mentally I’ll individual 🫡 who in a fit of mania sometimes believes they are absolutely, 100% right and has the irrational thinking of; “im right, and you love me, you’re the person I love most, you should get it” & is totally irrationally emotional when they DONT, yeah… I GET THAT SIR!!

Even if it’s completely understandable, deep down I know they’re not at fault for not getting my own emotions, I’m in control of those — not others. I know this. Still, when my partner says something that goes against me it’s like nails against chalkboards sometimes

Again, when looking at Anakin he had nothing. He was a slave all his life, just to a different master each time. on Tatooine, to the Jedi/code, Palpatine and even to the Darth vader suit, he is never of his own free will. It was Qui-gon’s choice to win Anakin, to take him from his mother and home to what he thought would be a better life. granted it is, but he also finds himself isolated from what is imo what is supposed to be his “placeholder family”

MORE IMPORTANTLY Padmé is the love of his life, telling him that what he thinks they need, what he’s done for her and their family etc to be at peace/alive was actually WRONG!! BAD!! All meanwhile he doesn’t have any of his support at his side; Rex is off with ahsoka, obi-wan is fighting grievous on utpau meanwhile Palpatine has puppy Anakin at his every whim and call ((lets not forget that Palpatine had to have been grooming Anakin from a relatively young age)) They don’t get it, they didn’t see Padmé die before their very eyes, they don’t know what’s waiting them. Anakin is trying to save his family. Obi-Wan going against him is salt in the wound, even if Anakin himself knows it’s wrong and against the code and just completely evil.

I mean, Padmé FORGAVE him for the whole tusken massacre smh is it such a stretch to believe she would stand by his side as he waged war against the galaxy? i mean… isn’t that what love is…..? selfish, passionate, narcissistic, messy? she herself is a politician who often prioritized Anakin over her own duties I bet my man expected some “if you have a body in your trunk I’ll bring the shovel” type beat which also, i reiterate, WHY WOULDN’T HE when his wife forgave him for mass genocide, children included?,

he is emotionally/mentally fragile, he just recently slew younglings and killed Mace — you think this mf is thinking logically? Stop giving him the benefit of the doubt; he was a mess throughout the series, not once did he ever have his feet on the ground. He isn’t suddenly going to make the “right” decision, especially if it means sacrificing his loved ones. He’s an extremely flawed character, stop expecting him to make the right call.

The blocks of Anakin’s character have been set up to fall, Obi-Wan and Padmé are two of his most beloved relationships aside from his MOTHER that are completely dogging on his only hope of SAVING THEM. Anakin was never simply, “you have to do what I say or else I’ll get upset!” that’s a disrespect to his character — he can think logically. He isn’t a child. He is strategic, effective, in tcw he is the most efficient victorious warrior making Palpatine’s efforts look even better as leader of the republic. He builds droids from the time he is a young child all throughout his formative - adult years to the extent where knows how to understand their bleep bloops.

Anakin is flawed deeply, he was doomed from the get-go, never had a chance. His feelings are complex and deep and he questions the faith he swore to follow/protect. His character is so interesting to me and I have such a difficult time depicting the raw duality of man he wears on his shoulders everyday. Our desire to do good, yet to be evil; our desire to be unselfish, yet we are selfish.

This beautiful, scarred, monstrous mosaic of a man who from the very beginning, had a huge amount of pressure on him was meant to be so horribly dismantled. What other choice did he have? He is the chosen one, how could he be wrong? How could his idea of saving his family be any less honourable than the Jedi of the Galaxy?

He isn’t simply angry at them for not agreeing with him/falling with him, he feels betrayed. Personally. Obi-Wan and Padmé are pieces of Anakin, people that he loved so fiercely he labeled them as his enemies once they hurt him, he is too far gone to give them any semblance of second chances

anyways yep happy Thursday guys

[minecraftrelatedrandomness]

piratestober weekly faction spotlight: the kestrels

guqqie:

girl is boasting about how she has never worked a day in her life

her mother said that getting seasick is "unladylike", which is a word that always leaves me concerned

i know they has been described to be elitist even by kestrel standards but they can be nice sometimes… i rmb that they tried to take p!ros under their wing at first

has high standards for the ideal kestrel: (1) rich, and (2) knows how to have fun

they were so salty about p!martyn showing up in all his scruffy glory and joining the kestrels without them giving the go-ahead (they talked to p!aimsey about it, at least)

how did her family react to her going missing? to her turning out to be kidnapped and killed? will we ever know?

kyle:

i think about him a lot sometimes.

his father died in an explosion and judging by the curse messages he got from the goldenbeard quest, he watched it happen. what in the trauma

also, his father was a workaholic who called his music "too loud" and "too annoying", so do with that what you will, i know i put him on D tier of the parenting tier list and not E tier but brb i need to bring him back just to murder him again

i get wanting to keep your parent's legacy alive, but the fact that you're only in the family business out of obligation and not bc you want to-want to, plus your father's own lack of parenting ability, makes me feel you deserve so much better than that. go chase your musician dreams, silly, there's nothing stopping you other than your familial trauma

wanted to form an inter-faction band with p!olive… go do that, silly man

what in the "music" hallucinations… you SURE you doing good?

considered turning iris' temple into a museum to profit off of entry tickets in the finale. idk about the capitalism but anything that makes you happy and satisfied ig

martyn:

considers the mansion rattic as his "old crew"… i think about that a lot, especially in relation to rats in paris. did you hear how happy he was to see at least some of them again?

also, that, but in relation to the v-tuber lore. he thinks they are all ai but he is still so attached to them :(

blondbeard was so cringefail it's unreal. bro went out of his way to use a frying pan as a backup weapon. his fake beard got in the way of his sight while trying to kill p!water. he wanted everyone to call him blondbeard as that persona and be intimidated by him but everyone just saw through the alias and disguise and just thought he was being a big asshole for no reason

why did he keep being an asshole to p!ros specifically, though? the bounty scheme. the libel in his newspaper and only changing his tune bc it would benefit a fellow kestrel. specifically destroying her castle as a distraction bc he wanted to see her cry. i want to examine him under a microscope bc wtf is wrong with him. p!graecie really called him the least assholey of the kestrels and he went out of his way to prove her wrong

speaking of blondbeard… the fact that he put out his bounty on p!acho and p!apo failed that, only for p!acho to die of stars own accord anyway. i watched his vod and he never found out that he succeeded in that in the most roundabout way possible

oli:

crashed on the isles from drunk driving his yacht. is this man okay.

also his wedding had at least 5 murders and thinks p!water's wedding having one murder (of the groom, to be exact) is nothing out of the ordinary

canonically from the tuna fishing & auctioning business specifically

the only reason issue 2 of the noisy parrot says good things about p!ros while being blatant libel in issue 1 is bc p!oli wanted to make a business deal with her over her castle for real estate / tourism

claims to only have a soft spot for his "sweet lady wife" (who is NOT a crab tyvm) and the other kestrels (most of whom are guys). i do not have a heterosexual explanation for this quote.

sausage:

i think he would die if he didn't make at least one nsfw joke per stream (i took so much psychic damage for this man)

more childhood trauma. so much childhood trauma. you say you don't care about anything other than money… or revenge for your family bc your parents and whole home got slaughtered by navymen when you were 15. which is definitely not out of love in the slightest

(i don't think he knows there were two ex-navy guys on the isles)

considered having a wet shirt contest with p!owen in light of the character announcements before the smp

also only initially kept his shirt closed at the start of the series to be "classy" but starts opening it more and more to show off his chest. my eyes… oh god, my eyes…

is canonically against marriage bc of long-distance travel & danger in the world of piracy

i think about the fact that his left arm was basically paralysed from the petrification incident a lot. apparently it's not as flexible as human flesh and bone. i guess that's a canon disability (and i request everyone not to overlook this fact in fanwork creation pls)

speaking spanish reminds him of home :(

scar:

yes, i know about the flying jellie = boatem theory, and i'm in favour of it too (with alterations depending on how i want the story to go) but pls don't overwhelm our little tag with hermitcraft… your fandom is already massive enough as it is… pls…

anyways. i don't think it's ever stated whether he killed his old crew himself or he genuinely abandoned them to die or if he was just the unlucky sole survivor who blames himself for it. so idrc what you interpret it as in fics

when you watch p!scott pov of day 1 and he's telling p!sunship about p!scar, you can actually see p!scar floating up in the distance bc of the chorus ale incident with p!bek

licked the corruption once bc p!sausage asked him to. said it tasted salty. also said his atlas looked like a peanut butter sandwich and the recruitment officer had to tell him not to eat it

thinks jellie is cuter than cruppy

is canonically scared of snakes. tried to barricade himself in his room once after finding out anacondas are around near the isles

p!saus kissed him once on day 5 and he did not like it, so… yeah, i don't really think of him as part of the kisstrel polycule myself. p!saus still calls him "his boy" nonetheless

shelby:

basically alexis rose from schitt's creek as a pirate girl who got lost on the way to "mexico" for a vacation

p!scott is "her david" (david rose was alexis' brother). i think about them a lot.

she also apparently has a fallback marriage pact with p!scott to get into the dumpling business

is canonically age 30 as of time of arrival on the isles (feels a bit old for a valley girl but i guess it's the kestrel way). the only reason i know this is bc jojo was streaming and she said it in the chat while talking to an npc. neither she nor oli (with her for that day's events) were streaming at the time (i guess acho was streaming at the time too but i haven't rewatched his vod yet)

chat are seagulls (some of whom speculatingly ship her and ivy)

wanted to build the first mall and resort on the isles + a luxury yacht to transport between the isles and her place

said she was just gonna sit back and watch on the sidelines for the revenge raid. kills a cultist nonetheless and boasts about it, but is ultimately more concerned by the fact that her nail polished got chipped in the fight

i admit it: i sent in the clip about p!shelby not wanting to be a statue for the twitchcon compilation. if anyone wants to cry foul about that, it's entirely on me and feel free to bomb my notes or inbox about that /lh

do her parents know she never made it to "mexico"? how would they react?

shep:

i also think about him a lot. i mean i got voted as his #1 fan and the cc torments me about it but still. i think about him a lot

has the personality of a "teenage himbo emo" (but isn't outright dumb, you know?)

the fact that you near-idolize captain merton… is it because your own parents abandoned you when you were a child and he took you in? or something? basically the golden child of the luscinia that Turned Out Wrong (but as i always say nowadays, golden children are victims too)

his canonical food hoards. i don't think that was ever explained.

the fact that the goldenbeard curse drained his hunger so much that he once ate 27 baked potatoes in 1 minute. (how could you STILL not believe the curse existed even after that?!) are you okay? do we need to talk? i'm no nutritionist (let alone dietician) but i don't think that's normal

the only person on the isles other than p!el that has a pet komodo dragon

said pet was originally named missile bc it killed an innocent kangaroo like one. then got renamed coda to make it wear a maid dress

tried to start a blobfish selling business (all but like 3 of them died bc he put them in the kestrel pit and they went up the waterfall and died from fall damage)

the denholm brothers literally robbed his backpack once bc it was not locked and he barely even noticed. it was so funny

his underrated friendship with p!water. they go crypting together. i am still not over the fact that he did a completely unprompted lore drop on water's stream while he wasn't even live himself

i'll never forgive the fact that he managed to get away with 3rd degree murder. space rat gets all the love and art now for being a lil guy but i'll always want to punt this guy /aff

[chaifootsteps]

Oh my god, finally! I've been wanting to post here for a few days.

I'm the author of that infamous fanfic. And I wanted to say, unrelated to Hazbin, that the documentary and Drake's story, coupled with his new music video "I Kinda Relate" is the most heartbreaking and empowering thing I've ever seen. I bawled my eyes out the entire day that I found it.

In the first 28 seconds, Drake heavily implies, but doesn't show, his abuse that he suffered at the hands of his rapist, Brian Peck (who also was penpals with none other than John Wayne Gacy.)

I wanted to do nothing but hug that poor little boy, and to hug the man he is now. I want to tell him that he's beautiful and strong and brave for coming out. Male CSA victims rarely ever do. Could you imagine telling Drake then or now, that he's a *loser*? Could you imagine going about his abuse the way Viv did with Husk and Angel? He literally made his own music video that was much more tactful and empowering than Loser Baby ever will be.

I also have dirt on Dan S and that whole fucking pedo ring (I know a LOT of people in this industry. I also helped take down an ACTUAL ZOO AND PEDOPHILE with a decent amount of power a few years back.) And for anyone still confused about Drake, the girl he messaged lied about her age and he never did anything physical with her. He still acknowledges he's fucked up (please watch his hour long interview and music video) but he's "bound to make it right".

I also just want to say, to a CERTAIN PERSON, that comparing the objectively fetishisized abuse (I'm a CSA victim and into noncon), to fucking SEX ED FOR CHILDREN, is the absolute most fucking garbage and vile take I've ever seen. Poison is NOT educational. It is fetish content for Viv and Raph and others like them. If survivors and fans can turn something objectively negative into something subjectively positive, all the power to them.

Again, into noncon and a CSA victim. I also don't want to see stans taking this and telling me I'm invalid for critiquing Viv and Raph (already dealt with that in my damn fic.) I have been raped/sexually assaulted/groomed/groped/strangled/pinned down/dragged around as a child and NO ONE is ever going to tell me I'm a hypocrite or that I'm wrong for my feelings on this issue. Especially when I also have friends and my own mother as SA and CSA victims as well.

Someone like myself, or like Drake Bell, do NOT need to see how explicitly horrid our abuse was/is to understand how bad it is. I personally had panic attacks watching the episode, and having the knowledge of Raph being an unapologetic rape fetishist, was all I needed to know that that entire episode was fetish content. It's basically an adaptation of Raph's Red Smoke comic. Nearly word for word too. I've written and consumed so many stories over the years to know exactly what's going in their heads.

You know how you actually help a victim? You have friends and family and a therapist help you get out of that situation. Husk "helping" Angel was not the way to go about it.

And I've seen fans argue whether or not Viv is a rape fetishist (she is), but if she wasn't, why is she so adamant on keeping an unapologetic rape fetishist on her staff? He's confirmed to be working on season 2 (God I'm gagging thinking about it) and why does she like so much art (no hate to the artists) of sexy, fetishisized, hot, and sad art of Valentino? If he's supposedly based off HER abusive experience, why does she coddle, woobify, and downplay and sexualize him so much??? I wouldn't base a rapist character or write a rapist character as a fucking "high school Mean girl".

I'm sorry this got so long, but fuck man... it's so fucking disgusting.

Anyways, please watch this. It's got more tact and heart than fucking Poison will ever have. Drake Bell, my heart goes out to you. CSA victim to CSA victim. I hope you get better and can heal. And that goes for all victims as well. 💜🫂 (You too, Chai.)

And Brian Peck, and any and all other rapists, can burn alive in a grease fire. Val included.

https://youtu.be/I5gh8rAVLkI?si=B2eny2U4GZRgDZ7t

https://youtu.be/nSzk-MsVKqA?si=6D4rEihu89Yom7YG

Well said as always, Anon, and thank you for this.

Also, definitely seconding Brian Peck burning up in a grease fire.

[marvelstars]

The lighter side of Anakin´s story

So I have seen some fans talking about Lucas mentioning that Qui-Gon was wrong to ask for Anakin to be trained as a Jedi because the prophecy only talked about a strong force user defeating the sith, not a Jedi and while I am not sure if that´s actually true given I have not seen the original video from Lucas, I must say that it´s a very interesting take.

Anakin at 9 was already a person who emboided compassion, a wish to help his community, he and his Mom bassically saved Qui-Gon and Padme for a long stay on Tatooine and saved Naboo by proxy, Anakin risked his life to give them the parts needed for their ship and later to destroy the droid army invading Naboo.

Shmi and Anakin were also active members of their society in the sense that they helped others without asking for anything, Anakin helped his fellow slaves, tusken raiders or people in need of his help, they did it just because it was the right thing to do and because they thought a nicer, kinder galaxy was in the benefice of everybody else, despite them being slaves. Anakin already had made a working transmiter detector to help take their slave chips outf and help other slaves like them. He was well on his way to achieving his dream to free all the slaves of Tatooine. He had many of the Jedi virtues without needing to be an actual Jedi.

Freeing the slaves of the outer rim, beggining with Tatooine, truly was Anakin´s purpose beyond the whole helping balance the force and defeat the Sith, in fact that was the first prophecy he made and the only one he didn´t get to fulfill properly which actually, it´s part of his tragedy imo.

Sooner or later, as a freedom fighter on Tatooine, he would have found himself in direct opposition with Palpatine´s plans be it as a Chancellor of the republic or the Leader of the empire, which would have given him the motivation to help end his reign without being too close and vulnerable to his influence. Anakin would have counted with the support of his community, his family, the Lars family and bassically any other people who joined in the cause of helping Tatooine to turn it into a better place for everybody. (Think of it as a proto-rebel alliance, just instead of restoring the republic, their main purpose would have been to free the slaves)

Anakin didn´t need to become a Jedi to do any of that, I believe Yoda´s, Mace Windu and the Jedi Council initial rejection of Anakin to become a Jedi was the right call, not for the reasons they believed, like being old or being afraid for his mother´s fate but in the sense that Anakin wasn´t fit for the way the Order opperated at the time, he didn´t need a master, he needed a father, he needed his Mother, he needed a family, The main reason why he was able to overcome the tragedy and pain of being a slave was because he could count on his Mom, his friends and his community to help him, listen to him and support him on equal footing which also inspired in him the wish to do his best to help them.

As a Jedi, Anakin was a stranger in a culture so completely different to his own that he never was able to fit in really, jedi training in the Republic only left Anakin feeling isolated, alone, vulnerable to Palpatine´s grooming by taking the role as Anakin´s father figure, bitter for the guilt of leaving his Mother behind as a slave and unstable emotionally because he no longer had a real supporting net to sustain him in the way a family would have done for him, when he had been a very stable kid, with friends despite being a slave on Tatooine. Bassically being a Jedi lead to Anakin emotional unstability and vulnerability to manipulation and nothing in their training helped him to overcome any of that because the main hurt, the abandonement of his family on Tatooine, wasn´t ever addressed until it was too late.

Qui-Gon intention was good, it´s completely understable he tought Anakin needed training but by forcing Anakin to become a Jedi in the same way the other Jedi were in the republic very much condemned Anakin to sacrifice the life and dreams that gave him happines and emotional stability. Anakin only needed his mother and him to be freed for him to quickly start positive changes from Tatooine and beyond it, not become a Jedi.

Yoda probably should have listened to his initial counsel, the only reason he changed his judgment was because Obi-Wan insisted as part of Qui-Gon´s last words, not because he thought it was the best path to follow and by sending Anakin back to his mother or letting him stay on Naboo as an hero, he most definitely would have done great things for the slaves in the outer rim and as a grown up adult, he would have not problem having a relationship with Padmé, taking away another pressure point that lead to him falling to the darkside, the other being of course, that he would have grown up secure and away from Palpatine´s influence.

Some food for thought

[holylulusworld]

Deranged Marriage (3) - Like hell

Summary: Your father wants you to choose a husband. Your chosen one doesn’t like the idea one bit.

Pairing: Mobster!Bucky Barnes x (Mafia daughter)! Reader

Characters: Steve Rogers, your father, Clint Barton, Peggy Carter

Warnings: arranged marriage, language, unwilling groom, angst, Bucky being an ass, strong/bratty reader, banter, hand around throat, sexual tension, idiots in love

Deranged Marriage masterlist

<< Part 2

“Give me something I can work with. Y/F/N wants me to marry his daughter,” Bucky grunts. “No, he forces me into marriage with her. You must find something I can use against her.”

“Buck, what did she do this time,” Steve chuckles as his friend grumbles under his breath. “Come on, humor me, my friend. I want to know how she got under your skin this time.”

“She accused me of—” Bucky sneers. “That little brat said I got a small dick. How dare she! She said that all I’m capable of is robbing grannies and shit.”

“Ah, she bruised your ego,” the blonde snickers. He can’t believe his friend doesn’t see that it would be so much easier if only Bucky admitted he got a thing for you. “You hurt her at the party. I’m telling you again to not push her too far.”

“But she…she makes me so mad. That audacity! She wants to force me into marriage. Maybe she’ll even try to turn me into a houseman or crap.”

“You’ll make a terrible houseman. You can’t even cook,” Steve says. “Well, maybe if you wear nothing but a kiss the cook apron you can make up for your lack of talent.”

“You’re not helpful, Steve.”

“I don’t try to be helpful. Buck, leave the girl alone or marry her. There is no halfway,” the blonde puts his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Y/N got no friends left thanks to you.”

“What are you doing, sweetie?” your father watches you sit on one of the old worn-out leather armchairs at the library once again.

Since your latest encounter with Lavender, you doubt your character. Maybe she was right to be afraid of you and your family. You never killed anyone, but your father did. All the people you know are criminals and you are fairly sure it’s not normal to sleep with a gun hidden underneath your pillow.

“Nothing,” you shrug. “I just wanted to read one of the books I bought. Is all.”

“What about your friends?” he softly asks. Your father knows something must be wrong between you and Lavender. He hasn’t heard her name for a while and his men told him about the little fire you made the other day.

“I got no friends,” you sniffle. “I never had any friends, dad. You know that. Lavender only pretended to be my friend. She was afraid of you and me…”

“She…what?” he sits on the other armchair, the one belonging to your mother once upon a time. “I’m sorry, sweetie. Being my daughter must’ve been tough for you.”

“You always were a good father,” you give him a cracked smile. “I’m a little lonely, is all. All the fun I had with my friends and all the memories are tainted now. Barnes forced me to open my eyes and now, there is no turning back.”

“I should kill him.”

“He’s not worth it,” dropping your gaze you try to hide the tears in your eyes. “I wanted him because I—”

“I know, sweetie,” your father sighs deeply. “You’re right, he’s not worth it. If you want me to call the wedding off, say the words.”

“I want him to suffer. If I cannot get happy, he won’t feel happy in his life ever again,” you purse your lips. “He’ll make a nice arm candy, won’t he?”

Your father laughs loudly as you give him a devilish smile. “All for you, sweetie. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Good. I want a party to announce my engagement with James Buchanan Barnes, my newest arm candy. He’ll regret rejecting and hurting me. I’ll make that bastard suffer, that’s a matter of fact.”

“Uh-looks like you won’t get out of this now, huh?” Steve looks at the invitation your father sent to him and Peggy. “Fuck, he wants to throw a party and invited the whole fucking mob!”

“That’s her! I swear she’s a she-demon, a devil in disguise,” Bucky rips the invitation he got into pieces. “I won’t attend that party. She can’t force me to marry her. That brat!”

“What goes around comes back around, Buck. If only you treated the girl with some respect she wouldn’t fight back. And I can tell, she fights dirty.”

Steve can barely hold back a chuckle. “Stop defending her. You are my friend.”

“I’m your friend. But you have to admit, you shouldn’t have embarrassed the poor girl at the party. She cried Bucky. You were cruel, and you know it.”

“She declared that I must marry her at the party! I did what I had to do Steve,” Bucky grunts. “Fine. If she wants to fight dirty, I’ll fight even dirtier.”

“You look beautiful tonight,” you smile as your father sways with you to the music. “Your fiancé should be here soon enough. I hope he’ll behave this time.”

“He’ll make a scene, you know it,” closing your eyes you lean your head against your father’s shoulder. “Barnes won’t give in so easily. Maybe this was a stupid idea.”

“You wanted to show him who’s in charge,” your father reminds you. “Don’t back down now. He must learn his place. If not, you can look for someone you like more.”

“I want what you and mom had, daddy,” you whisper. “Do you think Barnes can give me that? I don’t think so.”

“Sir, you should see this,” Clint, one of your father’s men says. “I’m sorry, we tried to stop him.”

“What’s the matter?” you lift your head and dip it to follow your father’s eyes. 

“You’ve got the be shitting me,” your father growls. “He cannot disrespect my daughter like this.”

You huff and shake your head. Bucky just walked into the ballroom, a petite blonde, and a busty redhead in his arms. He smirks darkly before he dips his head to kiss the blonde.

“He’s an asshole, I knew that already,” you hold back a sob. Behind your fake smile, you hide the hurting very well. You’ll never admit it, but deep down inside you had hoped Bucky would change his mind.

“Clint, get Rumlow and Lang,” your father barks orders at Clint. “I want Barnes to feel the pain tonight. He’ll never disrespect my daughter ever again.”

“I’ve got this,” you clear your throat and straighten your back. “Let me do this.”

Your father watches you walk to the middle of the room, ignoring Bucky and the girls hanging on his every word.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” you raise your voice to get everyone’s attention. The room falls silent as all eyes are on you. “Thank you for coming here. Tonight, we wanted to celebrate my engagement but—”

You take a deep breath. There is no turning back now. If you want to hit Bucky Barnes, you’ll do it hard, fast, and without mercy. You’ll hit him where it hurts the most.

His ego.

“I changed my mind,” you fake a dramatic sigh. “You see, I’ll need a true leader by my side. Dangerous, strong, smart, and, loyal. And most importantly, a potent man able to give me an heir. I’m my father’s legacy and I want this empire to live on. Sadly, my chosen fiancé cannot give me this.”

The room falls completely silent. It seems like everyone holds their breath as Bucky drops his arms from around the girls. He glares at you, murder in his eyes.

“So, enjoy the party. There will be no engagement for the time being,” you clap your hands. “Now, eat, drink and celebrate our way of life.”

You smirk at Bucky before turning on your heels. He can never know that he hurt you deeply once again.

“Fuck—shit…fuck…” Steve stammers as you leave the ballroom. “I should do something. Right? He’s going to kill someone tonight. I’m afraid it’s Y/N.”

“She just ripped him a new one,” Peggy chuckles. “I love that girl. She has balls…I give her that.”

You’re sitting at the library, reading yet another book, when the next thing you know, Bucky walks into the room, slamming the door shut.

You didn’t hear him coming due to the music blaring from downstairs, and he scares the shit out of you as he storms toward you.

“YOU ARE DEAD!” 

You huff and turn your attention back toward the book in your hands. If only you can ignore him for a little longer, you can go back to licking your wounds.

“You got what you wanted. I don’t want to marry you any longer. You’re free of me, Barnes. I don’t do small dicks or selfish pricks.”

“I’ll kill you,” for a man his size he moves pretty fast. You can’t even gasp before his hand is around your throat; the metal one. He forces you to look up at him. “Look at me, bitch. You are dead.”

“Be a man and do it,” you choke against his hand. He squeezes a little harder, eyes dilated and lips parted. “Kill me and you are a dead man.”

Bucky leans closer, nose brushing your cheek as he holds your throat in a tight grip. 

“I killed people for less,” he snarls in your ear. “You just don’t give up. I knew you are trouble. What do I have to do to get you off my back?”

“It was your choice, Barnes,” you push against his shoulders. “How dare you bring those wenches to my home! You disrespected me, my father, and my home first.”

“Big talk for such a weak little girl,” his hand wanders a little lower, thumb brushing your skin on its way. “If I squeeze just a little harder, you’ll never wake.”

“Do it,” you pucker your lips. “If you are man enough. Come on, you are good at hurting and embarrassing me. Why don’t you end it like a man?”

“Fucking brat,” he groans against your cheek, lips almost brushing your skin. “I should kill you. You deserve to get punished and…no. This would be too easy. I will make you pay for this.”

“Oh, I’m scared,” you challenge. “Do your worst, Barnes…”

>> Part 4

Tags in reblog.

[seaofcereal]

Well, you don't know fuck about my family. Windclan!Jaypaw one-shot

Notes:

Second fic ever! Tbh not quite a fan of this one but is as good as it gets, hope you enjoy it as a silly little read. Tittle is from Seventeen by Marina and the diamonds. Like last time leave kudos and comments if you enjoyed it, thanks for you time! 💕 Btw I made Webfoot Kestrel's and Hare's father since they both are mystery kittens, their mother could be a molly that died on childbirth or something idk.

Jaykit nuzzled his mother’s belly fur, sinking in the sea of warmth her long fur provided and shielded himself from the biting cold of leaf-bare.

She allowed it, but Jaykit felt a heavy feeling start to drip from her again, so he scooted away.

Nightcloud sighed and swept her tail through the nest to pull him closer, he found himself cheek to cheek with his brother. Jaykit frowned but still closed his eyes and soaked in the warmth. Why does she pull me close if she doesn't want me?

Is not the first time Jaykit realized the resentment his mother seems to hold towards him, the way she rushes her words when speaking to him, the way she seems to groom him briskly in comparison to doing it methodically and lovingly for Breezekit.

He thinks she loves him, she must, he is hers after all. But the amount of times he searched for an ounce of love under all that coldness and heaviness and found none were too many. And now, he feels that heaviness building up on his stomach too, why can’t she just want him.

Breezekit nuzzled his cheek and started purring, Jaykit’s bitterness was overpowered by a wave of warmth emanating from his brother, he purred back.

Nightcloud cooed, a flash of warmth came from her, Jaykit’s heart stuttered. But then it was followed by something cold. The same startling coldness cats get when they know they did something bad. Nightcloud wrapped the kits with her tail and laid her head down.

Did Nightcloud do something bad?

Jaykit drifted to sleep.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaykit dashed through the nursery’s entrance along Breezekit.

They ran towards the fresh-kill pile, Jaykit was proud of how he didn’t trip once, he finally knew the camp by heart.

“Not fair, you started early!” Breezekit said as he crashed into Jaykit, (Who by the way, won.) “You always say that when you lose!” Jaykit retorted, shoving his brother off him. “It doesn’t even apply, you were in front and I caught up to you.”

“Now, Breezekit. Jaykit won.” Crowfeather padded up to them, Breezekit huffed but said nothing, Jaykit shoved him playfully. Their father nosed through the freshkill pile looking for a meal for them, Jaykit could hear his unenthusiastic movements and could feel Breezekit’s growing unease.

Nightcloud caught a case of whitecough and was ushered to the medicine den by Barkface as soon as he smelled it, she was reluctant but finally decided to go once Crowfeather agreed to watch the brothers for her.

Jaykit doesn’t know how to feel about his father, he’s there but that almost doesn't really mean much. Whenever the kits try to play with him he’s stiff, whenever they try to talk to him he’s brief and whenever Jaykit tries to initiate physical contact he gets hit with this overflowing wave of painful sadness that makes him recoil immediately.

That’s what Jaykit doesn’t understand, why is his father so sad all the time? Well, when he’s feeling something. Most of the time Jaykit searches in him for something he’s met with a whole lot of nothing, just a startling void of numbness. (Concerningly apathetic, he overheard Ashfoot mutter despairingly at Whitetail one evening Oh Whitetail, where have I gone wrong?.) Crowfeather’s mind seems to be a mystery to the whole clan.

So he doesn’t really know what to make of his father, but his mother and brother definitely do. Whenever Nightcloud and Crowfeather are at close proximity the air seems to shift and become as dense as water, Jaykit realized he’s become better at swimming in it than his brother.

Breezekit gets really upset, but since he’s not Jaykit apparently he doesn’t know about the sadness, he only sees how their father never wants to play with them and how he angers their mother who does play with them. This image is only amplified by both Onestar and Webfoot, the ever-present fathers in their kits lives.

Crowfeather picked up something and hummed to get the kits to follow him, they sat down to eat under a gorse bush. Crowfeather dropped the prey and proceeded to do nothing, “Umm, can’t you open it up for us?. We don’t like the fur, Nightcloud does it for us.” Jaykit said while sniffing the prey, rabbit. “Oh” was all the tom said after some heartbeats before grabbing the rabbit again, Breezekit bumped his brother's shoulder to get his attention.

“Why can’t you just call my name, I’m not deaf.” Jaykit said annoyed, his brother bumped his shoulder again “Just making sure.” Breezekit said snarkily, he felt a wave of discomfort emanate from Crowfeather. “What do you want?” he leaned down to take a bite of the rabbit their father had poorly opened up for them “Well since we are 4 moons already, Onestar might already be considering our mentors. Who do you think you’ll get?” he heard Crowfeather almost choke beside him, weirdo.

Jaykit chewed “Well, I would like Ashfoot since she’s the best fighter I know.” Their grandmother was fierce and strict with all cats alike, except the both of them “But I wouldn’t mind Tornear, he always brings the biggest rabbits.” Though the senior warrior may be a little hard to get along with, no one can deny the quality of the prey only he can catch.

Breezekit hummed in agreement while chewing beside him “I guess I’d like Ashfoot too but I think Weaselfur would be more fun, since Ashfoot’s the deputy and all.”. Even though Ashfoot holds a soft spot for them as her grandkits, Jaykit admits that probably won’t extend to their apprenticeships. Weaselfur is the type of cat Breezekit would look up to, he’s brave and confident, likes having fun.

“Jaykit” Crowfeather started, his voice unsure. “Yes?” he answered, already feeling his father’s heavy discomfort and his brother’s growing indignation. “I just want you to know… that no one would think less of you if you don’t-” there it was “But he will!” Breezekit snarled, though Jaykit felt touched that his brother defended him, he can’t deny hearing his father saying it stung.

He’s known since he was young, I mean how could he not? And obviously everyone around him knew. He has overheard everyone make a comment about it once or twice, never encouraging. He hates it obviously, but what can he do? Nightcloud, as unsure as she seems around him, is still fiercely confident that he will make it, so Jaykit is grateful for that. Crowfeather, like always, is just sad-Jaykit resents him for that, what can being sad do? And Breezekit loves him (he never said it of course, they’re both way too prideful.), so he’s upset about it all, he hates his brother having to be so angry all the time.

“I-I’m just saying-just in case he-” Crowfeather stutters, the sour sadness and cold regret emanating from him in waves. “What about grandfather?” Jaykit said, trying his best to keep his voice from wavering. Crowfeather paused and audibly gulped.

“Well Deadfoot was disabled too but-”

“But he made it, didn’t he?”

“Yes! but it’s really not-”

“He got the support that he needed and made it!”

Jaykit knew his fur was bristled, he might be trembling too actually “I just-” his voice cracks so he snaps his mouth shut. “Oh Jaykit- I only-” Crowfeather takes a deep breath.

“I only want to keep you from getting hurt, it’s going to be hard and different and I don’t know what to do-”

“You don’t have to do anything!” he snarls. Breezekit presses against him, his own heart beating fast as his.

“You just-” he breathes in and out, the air thick and so full of emotion it makes him sick “You just have to be there.”

He waits for Crowfeather to argue with him, to start crying or to just straight up get up and leave. But he only pulls both kits close to him and licks both of their heads, the usual bitter sadness shifting to the warmth he’s normally unused to when it comes to his parents.

“Ok” his father says in a trembling voice, “I’ll be there”.

----‐-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jaykit struggled to keep his eyes open, even though he felt tired, the bristling excitement of tomorrow was still coursing through his bones.

Onestar has passed through the nursery early this morning and has informed them that tomorrow morning Breezekit and he would get apprenticed, Jaykit remembers the shock at the overwhelming love and pride that flowed from his mother.

Heatherpaw, Harepaw and Kestrelpaw were all apprenticed last moon, (Harepaw got Tornear, but oh well, at least he was getting apprenticed. Kestrelpaw is Barkface’s apprentice now so Jaykit is safe from that.) so both he and Breezekit were getting restless at the empty nursery. And so was Nightcloud apparently, windclan cats are not made to be kept inside.

He honestly didn’t think Onestar would even consider making him an apprentice, he has this no-nonsense type of attitude Jaykit knew wasn’t fond of him in particular. Whenever he’s near, Jaykit gets flooded with pure sour annoyance. And he wasn’t fond of his father either, so whatever Crowfeather did to get their leader to agree must have been costly. Jaykit is thankful.

“Jaykit, the first day is always rough, you’ll need the energy.” Nightcloud purred, amused “Thanks for not giving up.” Jaykit slurred while he pressed against Breezekit’s sleeping form. Nightcloud stilled and Jaykit prepared himself for a wave of cold regret, but only she licked the top of his head until he drifted away “Make me proud Jaykit, this is only the beginning.”

He fell asleep to her words with warmth in his heart, so he didn’t immediately realize where his dreams had taken him.

He couldn’t always see in his dreams, they’re normally more about sensations and feelings. And the times where he could see were only on one type of dream and incredibly hazy, he was on the snow, surrounded by other warm pelts and enveloped by pure love and gut wrenching sadness at the same time.

But right now he got whiplash by how bright everything was, not that he has ever seen it but he assumed this is what the night sky must look like. He looked down and was greeted by his own paws, gray tabby they had told him, he imagined he was bigger. He walked forward, taking in his surroundings and sniffing the air. Could this possibly be starclan?

Oh no.

Has he died a day before getting apprenticed?! Breezekit was going to kill him-

“You’re not dead, young one.” a melodious voice spoke, Jaykit turned around with a hiss of surprise. A cat was sitting there, she was blurry and starry, and since he had never really seen another cat before he wouldn’t really know, but she looked wise.

“Who-who are you?” he cursed himself for stuttering, he attempted a fighting stance but by the she-cat’s curling amusement he probably looked dumb. “I’m Moth flight, I was Windclan’s medicine cat many, many moons ago.” Emphasis on many, of course.

Jaykit bowed immediately “I know! Sorry for not recognizing you!” she purred and walked up to him. “I’m actually surprised you remembered the stories you were told about me, many kits don’t tend to care” she paused and Jaykit resisted the urge to fidget under her bright green gaze “I guess you are different”.

“What would the first medicine cat have to say to a mere kit?” he asked, he was getting a bad feeling about this but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t curious. “Well you’re not exactly a mere kit, are you?” she smiled gently and placed her tail on his back, her starry fur soft but strange “You might not know this but mere kits can’t feel other cats’ feelings”.

“You don’t say.”

She giggled “Well I guess it is quite obvious, you know, you’re not the first cat starclan has given powers to. Many others have walked this path that you have been destined to.” she paused and sighed “Even if that path has been a little altered.”

“What does that mean?”

“Nothing. Say Jaykit, won’t you consider becoming a medicine cat?”

“What?! No way, besides I can’t take Kestrelpaw’s position!”

“Well that wouldn’t have been a problem if only-” she snapped her mouth shut and sighed again “He’s a good cat, trusts in Starclan, I shall talk to him and he'll understand that your destiny takes priority over his and-".

"No don't say that! It isn't true!" A day before he gets what he wants, really?!

Moth flight face tightened "Jaykit, this is for starclans sake!" Jaykit bristled with anger, his own mixing in the air with hers.

"And why do I need to be a medicine cat for that?!"

"Well you-your parents fear for you Jaykit, If you become a medicine cat you'll bring them peace of mind. Isn't that what you wa-"

"No! You can't just bring up my parents to avoid a question, you are hiding something!"

Her piercing green eyes were swirling with anger, but she just sighed again “I guess this is what I get.” Jaykit’s heart was beating so loud in his ears he had a hard time understanding what she said “What-”.

“I’ll be watching over you, Jaykit.”.

He blinked and suddenly he couldn’t see anymore.

Notes:

Sorry if this was out of character btw. This is also on ao3 so follow me there too ig. Thanks for reading <3